By Aqila Asad<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I am a Pashtun woman<\/p>\n
My birth was not a happy occasion<\/p>\n
No cheers, no celebration<\/p>\n
That a son would warrant<\/p>\n
No one brought sweets to the family<\/p>\n
No one ran along the alleys, singing<\/p>\n
No one did the call for prayer in my ear<\/p>\n
To Baptize me a Muslim<\/p>\n
No one sent congratulations<\/p>\n
No one held me close<\/p>\n
No one looked at me<\/p>\n
They just called me Pashtana,<\/p>\n
A female Pashtun<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It\u2019s fine for me to glean in the wheat fields<\/p>\n
To go to strangers\u2019 houses for quilting<\/p>\n
To pick cotton<\/p>\n
To shuck corn<\/p>\n
To wander in bazars, scavenge, beg<\/p>\n
To clean the shoes<\/p>\n
Taken off outside the mosque<\/p>\n
All this is not forbidden<\/p>\n
But school<\/p>\n
And read and write?<\/p>\n
I am not allowed to do that.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
If she cries, it must be acting<\/p>\n
If she laughs, it is immodest<\/p>\n
If she\u2019 falls silent, they say<\/p>\n
Oh! She\u2019s being a coquette<\/p>\n
If she says something,<\/p>\n
They say,<\/p>\n
Did you hear that?<\/p>\n
She\u2019s grown now, she\u2019s looking for a lover<\/p>\n
This is the Pashtun woman that I am<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I am not supposed to have wishes<\/p>\n
If I keep secret desires,<\/p>\n
Blasphemy.<\/p>\n
If I hold somebody\u2019s memories<\/p>\n
In my heart<\/p>\n
Blasphemy.<\/p>\n
If I tend donkeys and goats<\/p>\n
That\u2019s fine<\/p>\n
But to think of a beloved?<\/p>\n
Blasphemy.<\/p>\n
Give me away in marriage<\/p>\n
As a prize<\/p>\n
Or just as retribution,<\/p>\n
It\u2019s fine.<\/p>\n
Sell me to a decadent suitor,<\/p>\n
It\u2019s fine.<\/p>\n
If I burn in flames, it\u2019s fine<\/p>\n
If I\u2019m killed or die neglected,<\/p>\n
It\u2019s fine<\/p>\n
But to say a word<\/p>\n
Well, that does not become<\/p>\n
A Pashtun woman<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It\u2019s late afternoon now<\/p>\n
I am going to the stream<\/p>\n
Or the riverbank<\/p>\n
With agemates<\/p>\n
Making the ritual round trip<\/p>\n
Jugs on our shoulders<\/p>\n
Hoping we may catch a glimpse<\/p>\n
Of young men who admire us<\/p>\n
Young men who risk their lives<\/p>\n
Just to see us smile<\/p>\n
This is our sacred walk<\/p>\n
Around the House of God<\/p>\n
Our Safa and Marwa<\/p>\n
The spring upon the cliff<\/p>\n
Is our Zamzam.<\/em><\/p>\n The Satan we throw stones at<\/p>\n Is our silverberry tree<\/p>\n Heavy with fruit<\/p>\n This is my place of worship,<\/p>\n This is my daily pilgrimage<\/p>\n Will I be the Malala of the battleground?<\/p>\n –Give water to the wounded?<\/p>\n Will I be the Zarghuna of the Empire?<\/p>\n –Rebuke the Emperor?<\/p>\n I will just be the Aqila* I am<\/p>\n The girl of the gudars**<\/em><\/p>\n A fresh bouquet of flowers<\/p>\n A lamp in the dark<\/p>\n A messenger of wisdom<\/p>\n And love<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Translated by Jonaid Sharif<\/p>\n —<\/p>\n *Aqila, the first name of the poet, is an Arabic word meaning wise, rational. It is customary for some poets to end their poem with their name.<\/p>\n **Gudar (pass point) is literally a point in a river or a stream where it is simple enough to fetch water from. But culturally, it is a place of rendezvous, an area where girls have a semblance of freedom to chat, vent, recite poetry, and occasionally exchange messages with suitors.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" By Aqila Asad I am a Pashtun woman My birth was not a happy occasion No cheers,<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":5348,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[108],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5347","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-culture"],"yoast_head":"\n