Like many, my heart has been breaking watching Afghanistan. I’ve been thinking a lot the past weeks about what it must feel like for women to be at work and told, at gunpoint, to go home and not return. To suddenly find yourself, like so many sisters, scrambling to find a burka, or perhaps to try and find safe routes to a plane that will take them away from their home, to where-they-don’t-even-know, as they wait for the reassuring sound of wheels folding up as the plane climbs safely towards altitude.
Warrior women poets
Warrior women poets
Warrior women poets
Like many, my heart has been breaking watching Afghanistan. I’ve been thinking a lot the past weeks about what it must feel like for women to be at work and told, at gunpoint, to go home and not return. To suddenly find yourself, like so many sisters, scrambling to find a burka, or perhaps to try and find safe routes to a plane that will take them away from their home, to where-they-don’t-even-know, as they wait for the reassuring sound of wheels folding up as the plane climbs safely towards altitude.