Poetry holds a profound place in the Afghan soul and psyche, being a source of spiritual insight and inspiration. A part of this tradition has reached the western world through the Sufi poets Rumi and Hafiz. One should therefore not be surprised when young Afghans who have suffered war and witnessed its devastation should write poetry in pursuit of peace. The peace they pursue is both in the outer world, and in their inner worlds as they seek solace and express intense emotions ranging from sorrow and pain to hope and transcendence.  

Nematullah Ahangosh and Nazila Narwan (a pseudonym) both had collections of their poetry published in 2025, and each read two of their poems in a webinar with the theme In Pursuit of Peace, hosted by World Beyond War Australia, in Refugee Week in June.

https://worldbeyondwar.org/in-pursuit-of-peace-afghans-promoting-peace-and-social-justice-in-new-lands-a-world-beyond-war-australia-symposium/

I was honoured to host this section of the webinar, and I feel privileged to have formed friendships with both these inspiring young Afghan poets.

Nematullah Ahangosh is an activist, librarian and poet. Born with muscular dystrophy, Nemat is a disability advocate and the founder of Stretch More, an initiative committed to empowering people living with a disability in conflict zones and disaster-affected areas. Nemat now lives and works in the UK. His poems focus on war, displacement, and human connection using direct language. He describes his literary influences as including Arundhati Roy, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Rupi Kaur and Harper Lee. In 2023 Nemat won first prize in the Frederick Douglass Writing Competition.  

Some of the poems in The Color of Peace reflect the raw and ruthless reality of war. Others are at times poignant, and even playful, evoking a lost boyhood within the loving embrace of family.  And some juxtapose the two dimensions of war and peace:

The Drone and the Butterfly

My word is not showering like a bullet.

It does not tear like a sword.

My word is falling like rain.

It heals body and brain.

 

My word is not flying like a drone.

It does not kill sinful souls.

My word is soaring like a butterfly.

It is flying again and again and again.

My word connects the dots.

It comes from my heart.

My word chases the light

in the middle of nowhere.

It sings like a bird.

My word heals.

It is simple and frugal.

 

My word is a smile

seen on a child’s face.

It comes from a mother’s mouth.

My word is not a dirty smokestack.

It is like the blue sky.

My word is like a cloud

fleecy and fluffy and soft.

My word is like a song

sung by many,

understood by some,

practised by few,

felt by all.

 

My word is nothing at all, yet

it is peace.

 

One of his more poignant poems offers a glimpse of a wistful young man losing the chance of love.

 

Eight Hours

It was brief as dream.

I watched her for eight hours, secretly.

My assumption stopped me from approaching her.

What if she didn’t want a war-stricken lover?

Then I let her go,

counted her every step until she faded away.

 

Nazila Narwan is self-taught in English and has translated her poems from Farsi into English in the collection Words of a Soul. She sees her poems as belonging to the spiritual and contemplative traditions of poets such as Rumi, Hafiz, Sohrab Sepehri and Mary Oliver. Nazila’s poetry comes from a place of deep suffering and explores themes of love, resilience, beauty, hope and solitude.

Nazila’s father fled Afghanistan in fear of his life 14 years ago and was subject to lengthy offshore detention in appalling conditions in Nauru and on Manus Island. He remains stranded in PNG, hoping for resettlement in Canada, after which his family, still in an unsafe place, will join him, Inshallah. They have not seen him in all that time – just one of the many faceless forgotten families, the hidden victims of Australia’s cruel Sovereign Borders policies. A few of Nazila’s poems allude to this tragic separation.

 

My Dream is Simple

A touch of equality

and a sprinkle of shared humanity

where Love is the world’s language

and hearts beat free from walls and wires.

 

Imagine an Afghan girl stepping into sunlight

her laughter echoing through a classroom

where the games of power are forgotten stories

and every mother holds her child close

not lost to the chaos of war.

 

My dream is simple

to stand beside my father at Niagara Falls

the water’s roar washing our worries away

the breeze kissing our faces

together in a world where distance means nothing.

 

Why do these dreams feel so far away –

a world within reach, yet out of grasp?

[Please noteMahnaz, younger sister of the poet Nazila Narwan, on the cover of this issue of the Australian Friend]