Small capital.
By: I remember the morning Kabul
Everything is unusual in a small capital,
And the dusk of the mountains, and the timid voice of a bird,
And the rumble of the streets waking up.
I remember the morning Kabul
Its coolness and its contrasts
And again I whisper through the separation: 'Hello!
Forgive me for intruding on your peace. '
Afghanistan lives in my soul.
I can hear sleepless nights
Loek's poems in anger and sadness,
And shots at the far line.
I remember that passing plane
In which we flew over the mountains.
And among us one was wounded at night,
But he was joking: 'He will heal before the wedding.'
Everything will heal, the country will heal its wounds.
Everything has its own time, and maybe that's the point,
And therefore leaves early
A squad of friends on an unsafe journey.
Afghanistan lives in my soul.
I hear sleepless nights
Loek's poems in anger and sadness,
And shots at the far line.
How many days have passed since then
How many words and meetings have been forgotten.
My destiny, show me mercy
Let me be at that holy mountain
Where will our last fight end
The last enemy will lie face down on the ground.
And someone's mother will say simple words.
And you and I will hear those words.
Afghanistan hurts in my soul
And everyone I met and never met
May they live long in this world
Like silence on the far side.
Afghanistan hurts in my soul
And everyone I have met and never met
May they live long in this world
Like silence on the distant frontier.