Two Poems by Maryam, Illustrated by Narwan
More Than a Thousand Days Without School
For the last time,I heard my school’s ring,
the melody that runs us toward growth.
For the last time, I sat in its chair,
the chair that helps me achieve my goals.
For the last time, I travelled by my teacher’s teaching
to discover the wonders of the earth and the sky.
For the last time, I sang on its stage,
for freedom and peace.
Since then, I’ve been caged in four walls of my home,
for more than a thousand days.
I gaze at my school’s uniform
hanging on my bed,
not putting it in the closet,
hoping one day I could go to school.
I remember the last day
at my school.
Everyone congratulated me for upgrading to 7th grade.
My scores shone on my result sheet,
but my eyes had blood crying.
Instead of being happy and celebrating my upgrade,
I mourned for it, wished to be failed,
so, one more time, I could go to the dream world.
The monsters had banned the dreams
for girls beyond the sixth grade.
They could close the doors of dreams,
but not those of my mind.
They are frightened of my pen,
because it’s stronger than their guns.
My pen is my weapon
against their guns.
Dear World, Dear Humans, Why Are You Silent?
We are collapsing in the unfairness of their ignorance.
We are locked in the cage of their selfishness.
They bury us while we are alive.
We are dying under the stone of their torture.
Our wings are clipped, our pens are broken,
our freedom is lost, our dreams are burnt. . .
In the quiet stillness, the world watches our gradual death.
Dear world, could you hear our plea?
Could you tell me where human rights are?
Or are we the exceptions to that?
Dear world, is it too much we ask for?
Our classroom symbolized our hope,
the blackboard, the chalk that whispers our dreams
Our uniform: black dress and white scarf that express our piety.
Dear humans, is it too much we ask for?
To not clip our wings, not break our pens?
To not bury, to live; is it too much we ask for?
Dear world, dear humans, why are you silent?
Maryam is a young Afghan poet and writer who weaves words into resistance. Her voice rises from a land where silence is survival, yet she dares to speak of lost childhoods, of girls without schools, of the unheard. Through her poetry, Maryam carries grief and hope, and creates light where darkness insists.
Narwan, creator of “Girls Not Permitted,” is a 13-year-old Afghan artist who speaks through her pencil what many cannot say out loud. Her drawing reflects hidden pains, quiet strength, resilience, and unshakable dreams of girls in a world that silences them. With simple lines, she tells powerful stories.