I Know…

I Know...
I know that one day they will write about us — about our generation — in every book.
I know that history will not forget us.
I know that the world will one day recognize a hell called Afghanistan— a hell where people didn’t live, but died every single moment.
People who could be called anything… except happy human beings.

I know that one day the world will call us heroes.
But what is the point of being called a hero when we never truly lived?
When we never felt the joy of sunny days,
the touch of winter winds,
the sweetness of a kiss,
the sound of free laughter,
or the simple pleasure of listening to music?

What does heroism mean
when every moment of our lives has been filled with regret
for the things we never had?

I know — one day we will win!
But what good will it do when, by then, we are old?
There is no joy in victory when youth is gone.
Because in old age, all you want is peace, prayer, and books.

Victory in youth is different.
When you win as a young person, you laugh, you dance,
you run, you kiss, you sleep peacefully, you get drunk on life —
you live!
But in old age, it’s not the same.
So the victory of tomorrow cannot heal the pain of today.

Where is our life, then?
What are we really doing?
Life? No — I refuse to call this life!

In life, there is sunshine and rain,
there are rainbows,
there is the joy of hugging and kissing,
of laughter, of dancing, of art,
of enjoying delicious food.

But we have known none of these.
We are not living life —
we are living death.

The truth is, they want to erase us —
but we will never surrender.