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The Afghan people I have found, are a people who have been born very much a part of the earth and soil of their land, and intermingled with its dust so intimately becoming “earthen” a people… so earthen that the destruction of their land by every invader in the past had been a destruction of a very part of their selves, in essence a breaking of this earthiness in them.

Today I may have come very late to my land, late yet in time to see… There is some part of me which can see why these people have bewilderment in their eyes. A part of me can read why these people are lost and groping in a frenzy,like dust speckles when touched. They spin and collide in a chaotic state trying to regain balance causing more imbalance than ever. Maybe my naive self, this self who never got broken under all the destruction this land faced, still knows and remembers the color of the dust on the skin of a brave people. That as a child, living in a foreign country, saying “I am Afghan” was a pride in honor of the brave warriors who together were defending this land. Maybe they have forgotten what their true image was.

They have forgotten that the earth and dust in this land are all one color, and that this land kisses all her children with the same breath of dust and proudly boasts their bravery and unity in protecting her honor in so many glorious tales of the past.

If only they remember again, how sacred the dust of their land was to them, and how they loved it ever so dearly.

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