From the Fall to Today: “A Time of Vulnerability, a Time of Resilience”

The light of hope—the bright lamp of life—fled from the homes of the defenseless in this land at that bitter, merciless moment when the dark shadow of the Taliban fell over Afghanistan. It was a moment when time seemed to stop, when breaths were held, and when childhood dreams and adult aspirations were cruelly and unjustly cast into the skies—toward horizons that no one can now touch.

Everyday life, once as simple as a cool summer breeze, became a distant dream. In the hearts of the weary and wounded, that dream has not yet faded, but each day it grows dimmer, paler.

Those warm and welcoming homes, once safe havens of peace and comfort, no longer exist. People who were once kind and simple now bear faces full of fear, anger, and despair. Innocent children—especially the girls of this land—who once harbored great dreams now stare at the closed doors of schools that should have been places of growth, but have become bitter reminders of stolen rights and broken hopes.

Women of this land, these hardworking and beautiful souls, have been stripped of even their most basic human rights. Silent and unprotected, they endure fresh forms of torment each day, yet their voices are lost amid the clamor of oppression and injustice.

The Taliban, who claim to uphold religion, bring nothing but darkness and terror to the lives of the people. Their cruelty surpasses even that of animals, for even animals recognize the sanctity of life and the power of kindness. This group of killers has not only taken lives but drained hope and spirit, turning our homeland into a land of blackened ruins.

My heart bleeds every time I think of children barred from school, women wounded by oppression, and people trapped in the grasp of darkness.

Day after day, in the alleys of despair, people lose their hopes amid smoke, grief, and mourning—simply for existing, for dreaming, for being women. If only their cries could reach the ears of the world; if only a helping hand would stretch toward them, so that once more they might see the meaning of life reflected in one another’s eyes.

Yet, in the heart of this sorrowful land, a flame of light still burns—a light that waits even in the darkest nights for the arrival of a bright tomorrow. A day when life might return to this soil, and the light of hope shine from house to house stronger than ever.

Meanwhile, the untold stories of thousands of families are quietly etched into the pages of history: mothers with tear-filled eyes and hearts full of pain waiting for their loved ones; children who no longer laugh, whose simple games have been replaced by fear and anxiety; young people staring at the cold walls of their mental prisons rather than toward a hopeful future.

Every day, stars fall silently in this restless land: dreams that never saw dawn, youth who never learned to soar, trapped in the cages of injustice. And the elders of this land, their hands weary from work and their eyes full of silent grievances, wait for a day when justice will tread the earth and oppression will be erased from memory.

A pain deeper than physical wounds is the sorrow of our exhausted and broken hearts—hearts that, though weighed down by suffering, still stand. They stand not out of strength, but out of hope that one day, this dark night will turn into a bright morning.

But which morning?

Which compassionate hand, from across the world, full of light and mercy, will reach toward us?

Which eyes can truly see into the depths of our souls and understand our unsaid pains?

Which hearts can bear the weight of this immense cruelty, grief, and solitude?

Amid these unanswered questions, roots of despair grow ever deeper in our soil. Yet even behind every dark cloud, faint rays of life persist. These rays are the brave and resilient humans who, even in the hardest times, still try, still create, and still fight—with bitter but hopeful smiles.

They do not give up even when every breath is counted: children learning from books amid ruins; nameless women keeping the lamps in their homes burning despite hidden wounds; men risking everything for a piece of lawful bread, never stepping back.

This is the story of Afghanistan—a land with thousands of stories: of defeat and victory, sorrow and joy, death and life. Stories the world may not know, but where, despite all injustice and suffering, people still nurture a light called hope—a light that will never go out.

May the day come when no child in this land fears, when no woman is denied her rights, when no man sleeps in worry for his future. A day when Afghanistan is recognized not for tears and pain, but for smiles and joy. A day when the light of hope shines gently, steadily, and life returns to every home.

And that day may be closer than we think, if we—together—keep that light burning and never let it go out.

— Fatemeh Azizi