Afghan Landay ...
Stop stealing the baby's sweet breast milk.
Go out and try to milk the goat you selfish old fool.
Don't handle me like your old rifle.
It will take more than a finger to make me explode.
The elders speak with her openly.
They respect her because she can kill them with honor.
I won't give you the satisfaction.
You couldn't make me scream in bed nor will I plead now.
Butterflies in the pink poppy fields.
Drunk on the nectar they choke and die like my sisters.
She said we should be sisters and friends.
If she kills the old goat I'll call it friendly fire.
You're addicted to my full blossoms.
Caressed when ripe and sold by men for their corruption.
This series of poems grew out of a writing challenge hosted by
Curtis. It was fascinating learning about the art form "landay"
and it's cultural and social significance.
I've included a link on the history of the form as well as
the competition link to read the wonderful work of other
poets here as well ...