grass in kabul

I had a dream there was grass in kabul. luscious green growing on the rocky mountains that never seem to end. green, the color of prosperity on our beloved flag. children flying their kites with freedom, girls skipping to school with smiles. the local man at the naanbayee no longer stressed with wrinkles on his forehead, but instead laughs as the children pass by, handing them loaves of bread. the air crisp, the skies clear, the sounds of chatter from the women at the bazaar. bargaining over garments of beautiful colorful clothing to die for. children no longer skipping over land mines but skipping for joy. a dream I never want to wake up from. a reality that will one day be ours, once again. rise Afghanistan, we will.