Why not TV?
He was young, very young; words were carved in depth of his dark eyes
His look talked before tongue; I cautious and afraid.
I was not an Afghan, I opposed rulers’ line, but
Read books; book seller had informed and betrayed; I was called.
Prepared with the names that friend had given I knew Baraki Barak.
I hid the illegals, my passport being corrupt; I gave names, relations.
Questioner knew names; I was saved.
Things went well and too fast; I ended in safe hands;
These young men, devoted and honest, were handsome.
Trusted, I joined them for the lunch after talk with their boss.
Spread table cloth on the floor, Dastar-Khan, meant lunchtime.
Two came to set the things according to Islam; poured water, we washed hands.
Generous they were and, I was guest; served me well
My skin kettle’s led, was heated with fever of questions, yet controlled.
Weak prey in their hands, I was a powerless chick or hen, and afraid.
I could see in man’s mind cooked something; I saw eyes:
“We share much, but still no trust.”
In my heart I heard him:
“I am one, single one, a member to a whole, the whole is Taliban, but not I.”
I could see a writing in his eyes:
“You are dumb, stupid, do not understand. You call me, plural…Taliban.”
Carefully, cautiously, I mentioned the TV, sought reply:
“We want it but experts betray us; so we wait to right time, our own men.”
After years I see that he was right.
Trudi Tierney has revealed:
“USA was behind the series; for Afghans.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem