Rising Sun

Throughout my teenage years, I watched my dear grandfather (Baba Jan) endure a life full of sorrow and struggle. After a stroke that limited his physical abilities, he was forced to live a life of dependence on others. During his illness until his death, I gradually witnessed the painful loss of his joy, beauty and human dignity. Every time my mother and I visited him, he was changing. His gaze became increasingly deeper towards the ground. His smile faded. A sense of shame and weariness overcame him. I understood that he was struggling with dependence on others, a burden that was gradually destroying his joy and hope.

Baba Jan was born in Kabul during the peaceful era of the monarchy and grew up in a prominent family. At the age of twelve, he was sent to Germany to be educated and to be raised as a cultured person. He returned to Afghanistan in his late twenties. Baba Jan had a broad vision and was known for his modern style and warm, gentle smile. As a great man, he instilled in me the essence of independent thinking.

The night is dark. The rain is gently falling.
His kind heart protects him from the fears that lurk outside.

Where has the peace gone?
It seems to have disappeared long ago.
He struggles to remember the good times.

A sad, mournful sigh escapes his heart.
A voice whispers in sorrow:
Where has the peace gone?

"Let me go! Take my hands. Please set me free."
The trembling voice echoes in the silence.
Tears of sorrow stream down his worn face.
The fragile body sinks deeper into the old sheets.

Gradually, minute by minute
Another night passes - another troubled night, drowned in longing.
Another prayer is recited.
Another wish to find peace in the gentle embrace of the rising sun.

Shahla Latifi
April 2025