Fred Smith 2020
“When the Taliban took power in 1996, many Afghans held hopes that, for all the severity of their approach, they might at least bring some order to the country wracked by conflict and predatory warlordism. But the regime was harsh, banning all nonreligious social activities including films, music, kite flying and poetry (Afghans love poetry and will take great risks to travel to a poetry meet). These rules were enforced by summary beatings, sham trials and public executions. A result of this was a continuing flow of refugees out of Afghanistan. By mid-2001, an estimated 3.6 million Afghans were living outside their national borders”. First verse supplemented by Alex Ellis.
For my homeland I am pining I will keep this letter rhyming, They can decode, what is written in prose It’s much different here in Sydney But we never fit in, did we? We didn’t comply with the trembling sky. So they tried me in my absence, When I heard about my sentence, I had to smile, here in exile For you know from your excursions If the truth has many versions then what is a lie, to the trembling sky? As our nation looked for heroes We both fell in with the weirdoes All of our peers, artists and queers As I recall we still were kissing, As our friends were going missing Spit in the eye, of the trembling sky If you are taken for correction, They will ask about connection. Just play the game, slander my name And don’t ask them for a reason, Or they’ll have you tried for treason Never ask why of the trembling sky As our countrymen all hardened, Esmat found me in my garden Gave me the queue, time to slip through So I hope you understand There was no time to touch your hand When I had to fly from the trembling sky