I Am My Own ID

The streets are growing empty
of human trappings, life’s color.
One after another, we pull back.
Nobody is calling out to me,
nobody is coming down the street.
We speak from behind walls
in the city where bullets
bloodied the sky.
I’ve memorized your voice—
each time a bullet hits
we scream one scream.
Where can I hide?
Whenever a part of the roof collapses,
it falls on someone.
The roof of this home
has been falling on me for years.
It’s collapsed at every corner.
I’ve created a home inside myself
with memories and dreams,
a home alive in me
I will never abandon—
my refuge when I feel invisible,
when no one knows who I am.
I’ve built a home inside myself.
Where are you from?
Where were you born?
This is what they ask.
Never where you suffered, where you laughed or cried
or lost your friends.
I am my own ID
of dreams and fears.
I have crossed rivers, mountains, airports with these.
Glances, memories, sorrows, laughter,
loves and worries, these are my identity.
Everyone is their own home,
with the languages they speak,
with the memories they carry.
Translation from the Persian (Dari)
Echoing Loss: Mariam Meetra’s Poetry in English
by Sabrina Nouri
Mariam Meetra’s poetry stands as a powerful testament to the devastating impact of war and displacement—particularly on women, but ultimately on all human beings. Afghanistan, her homeland, has endured more than four decades of unrelenting conflict: wars against foreign intervention, internal civil wars, proxy battles, terrorist attacks, and, most recently, following the shocking resurgence of the Taliban, what can only be described as a war on women, on language and culture, and on the very ideals that democratic societies uphold as the foundation of human dignity. For Meetra, as for millions of Afghans, exile has not been a matter of choice but of survival. Her poetry traces this unending journey, one that begins the moment “the wind pulls up her roots and blows them wherever it wants to.” The recurring figure of the wind, woven throughout her work, becomes a potent symbol of the instability of her condition both as a woman and as an exile. It unsettles her body, shaking her shoulders and scattering her hair in all directions; it strips away her identity, and Meetra describes herself “like the shadow of a nameless woman in agony . . . standing each day shoulder to shoulder with a sadness that permeates the walls.”
Exile in Meetra’s poetry extends beyond the physical loss of homeland; it also marks the erasure of identity, especially the denial of her existence as a woman. This theme is articulated with striking poignancy in her poem “Faceless,” where she confronts the violence and silence imposed upon Afghan women. Yet within this condition of displacement and suppression, Meetra also reveals a path of resistance and resilience. For Afghan women, resilience has long found expression in poetry. Writing—or “singing” poetry, as in the landay, an anonymous form often composed by illiterate women—has at times been the only way to exist within Afghanistan’s patriarchal society. In this way, Meetra’s voice not only records the trauma of exile but also reclaims poetry as a space of defiance and empowerment.
As a translator of Afghan literature, I felt an acute sense of urgency to bring Mariam Meetra’s poetry into another language. Her work transcends the familiar narratives of oppression, erasure, and denied love that have often defined Afghan women’s poetry. Instead, she pushes against the boundaries traditionally assigned to women’s voices, expanding their scope and resonance. While her poetry is distinctly feminine and deeply rooted in the Afghan ethos, it also carries a universal dimension. Meetra speaks not only as an Afghan woman but as a human being whose words echo the sense of loss shared by all who have been torn from a “garden”—whether that garden is homeland, love, or childhood.
San Francisco
Editorial note: From I Saw the Fury of the Wind. English translations from the Persian by Sabrina Nouri & Samantha Cosentino © 2024–25.
