Tuesday, December 27, 2016

Sharbat Gula

I’m only a child
But I feel old.
The world thinks I’m wild.
Their curiosity makes me cold.

They talk about my eyes,
They wonder about my fate.
But will they listen to my cries?
I guess I’ll just have to wait.

When he took my picture,
He stole my soul.
He said I was a lovely mixture.
He said I looked like a foal.

My photograph has been everywhere
But I have stayed at home.
My heart is forever bare
To be found in any tome.






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