I love the breeze that blows through my windows

Rousing me

Playing through my hair

It makes dry trees dance

Swirls wild dust

Gives spirit and life to flowers like me

If only I was that breeze

Carrying that tropical dew

I would fly everywhere

Every place, or even a few

But I am a prisoner in this land

Always tortured

I can’t be that softness

That free breeze

Escaping out my windows

I can’t bear it

This jail

I want to be as a sail

I want to fly as a pigeon

Not a sparrow in a cage

If only I was that breeze

Carrying that tropical dew

I would leave this painful life

This hell where I’ve been thrown

By Beheshta

via Afghan Women’s Writing Project | The Breeze.