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THE AFGHAN GIRL'S HOUSE
I went to the house of the Afghan girl,
The girl who sells burgers and tea,
Beyond the roads, was a thatched hut,
Beyond posh villas, near the sea.
She welcomed me to her humble home,
Where a frail woman wished me peace,
She was her mother, and her father,
The crippled soul - he was swapping fleas.
There was warmth inside that shanty hut,
The little one rushed with a cup of tea,
Her old man called me beside his bed,
And asked about me and my family.
Then he asked about his land,
The land he was born - Afghanistan,
He was surprised to hear about refugees,
Still pouring into Pakistan.
"Well sir", the weak, old soul told me,
"You see how we are all carrying on,
If it's God's Will, it will be done,
Why should I curse humanity?"
