I was standing in front of the window in the small, dark living room, folding my arms against my chest, looking out at the drops of rain falling like the tears of a mother for her dead child, like a gift from the hell, like a curse from the devil. The dark, gloomy sky had a rhythm of pain, a rhythm of loneliness. The land was like a woman in black, shouting from the unbearable pain.
It was October 21, 2008. Taliban insurgents had pulled thirty Afghan men off a bus in southern Afghanistan and beheaded them after accusing them of being soldiers traveling in civilian clothes. The thirty were actually men going to west to Iran to find work. This was not only the end of thirty lives and their dreams, but the end for families and friends they had left behind waiting for them.
I wanted to step back and leave the suffering, but the portrait inside my heart was no different from that of the view. I finally pulled myself away and closed my eyes, trying to see deep inside and imagine a dream picture of Afghanistan. I saw a land, warm from the sunshine, little girls and boys flying white kites in an open green field, dozens of women wearing green, blue and red scarves and sitting under the shadows of a pine tree, giggling while their noses shined from the reflection of sunshine, a group of men chuckling together. I saw a young man in white holding a little girl’s hand with a pencil, teaching her how to write. I looked to the right side and there was a masjid (mosque) in the color of light emerald. I looked closer and found a woman wearing green head scarf reading to a younger girl from the pages of holy Quran.
I saw the same land in the winter with snow falling down from the sky like pearls, covering the land like a piece of white silk. It was pure like a gift from Heaven, like a blessing from Allah. I heard something, looked up, and it was the Snow Partridge sitting on the dry branches of olive tree covered with pure white snow, singing sola, sola and sola (peace, peace and peace.)