Joya will never be killed, and her voice will be forever the voice of her people

By Edu Montesanti Goldoni, Nolan Chart, May 18, 2009

Joya in Canada

Is there any hope to Afghanistan? Yes, there is! In the country of the Taliban and so feared warlords, the Afghan hope lays on its combatant men, and on its several brave women. To them our admiration, solidarity and prayer; to Malalai Joya our following words of love - just because she has been giving her life away, after being expelled from the Afghan Parliament for denouncing the warlords - drug traffickers. Joya will never be killed, and her voice will be forever the voice of her people

A flower sprouts among stones,
there is no fertility in her land,
she has no shelter, no water,
has never known the rainbow of liberty.
In Kabul, only blood has been poured on her,
from Herat, one hears the cry of her children,
a foreign giant, the local scythe, both so mortal,
among the wondrous montains of Kandahar,
shots have been discharged from everywhere.
There is no horizon, there is no sunlight on the flower,
she's been trod, offended,
by herself she's been survived,
there's a matchless loveliness in the flower,
smell of youth.
The blood of her people,
of hundreds on the ground every day,
indeed feeds her, can never choke her dreams.
From Jalalabad, one hears the sigh of the dad,
sacrificed for what? The world doesn't know...
The cry of her raped and burned girls,
louder day by day, she cannot tolerate it anymore!
There is no song, there is no time, there is no youth,
the invaded Kabul is desolated,
cowards use the human force to gain ground,
so terribly, in the West, the other part of the globe,
people don't know what means
such a genocide to the mankind...
But rejoice, Kabul,
you've been chosen by Allah,
a tender flower, full of grace and vigor,
whose strenght comes directly from Him,
whose daily life is given personally by Him,
whose amazing bravery marvelling the whole world
more and more,
cannot be killed.
Such a flower has been giving her life away,
to the humbler, the hope,
a trod, offended, beloved beauty,
everywhere, every tongue sympathizes with her battle.
Kabul, this wonder, so especially yours,
a shared love,
the morning star over you,
scents freedom.
A flower called Malala Joya,
the world has learned to love you,
your fight is ours,
your water comes from Allah.