Afghan Widows
by mazHur

Everything is possible in war
but love;
the looming eagles wouldn't spare
the dove.

For a loaf of bread or fifteen cents
will sell
the helpless widows that men turn out
in this hell.

No choice but to die or to live
for their orphan kids
Bare hands, bare feet, bare body,
life on skids.

Amazed not be at the sex they sell
for their survival,
for more or less, where isn't it sold,
can anyone tell?

As long as the bigger fish sport
the oceans blue,
how can the smaller fish feel safe,
to be true.

The dichotomy of the occupiers
and the occupied
makes whores out of women unless
they'd died.

Weigh not the worth of a woman
from her constraints,
men, yes men, spoil the picture
which God paints.