Monologue:

© Sohrab Kabuli 2006


I am 23 years old a few months later I will jump to 24. I had born in the land of pains & injustice. I call myself as pseudonym Sohrab Kabuli here in Farsi www.kabuli.org and also Afghan LORD here in English http://afghanlord.blogspot.com. Recently I made a page for Afghan blogger in order to make a community blog for Afghan blogger to defend their rights. My real name is something else. I like to tell this personally if some one interested. My real name means gentle wind which comes and stream from dew and garden of tulips. I like to write from traditions, culture, society, women, youth, children and political. Beside these interests I am interested in photography. I am educated from High School and dreaming to study in sociology but this field does not exist in Afghanistan Universities.

In 2005 I selected the prize winner of freedom of_expression blog award in RSF from Africa and Middle East among seven others in the world.

Music is ruling on me like a blood in my body. I don’t remember the day I have heard no music. I interested to western classical music starting from 16 century (Baroque age) and also New Age Music. Let mentioned that eastern music also my favorite, especially Indian Music and our Afghan Music.

 

When I was a child

I remember while I was child I was arguing every day with my parents to change my name. My parent were asking me why I want to change my name, I told them I am not happy with my name because I found another boy in my age he also named my name. I was seeking to find a unique one but I couldn’t find easily. One day I present a name for my mother that I like to call in a new name. Every one at our home requested me candy if I change my name. The candy got ready by my sister and people asked me: in what name should we call you after this moment? I told them a name unfortunately they all laughed and told me that this is the girl’s name.

Later with my old name when I became 9 years old, I love to be a shepherd. I like to have my flute hanging in my nick and in the midday I love to play songs for my sheep. I asked my father to buy sheep for me. In another day I forced my mother by crying to give the three lambs for me to lead them out in the pasture. Our home was located in a small mountain slope. I was happy with my lamb going to far-off, expanding the distance from home. One of those lamb bringing small horn I was touching and playing every day with its horn I wished to grow up soon.

In the third day I went far from home, left the lamb alone in the hill and I laid on a flat rock. I went to a deep sleep while I woke up; I saw one of the lamb missing. In the previous day I saw a fox in its cave on the rock which stared at me from its cave badly.

I started crying for my lamb on slate and worry how to go back to home and what should I tell to my mother when she ask me where is one of the three lamb.

Still when I am going to the village defiantly I remember the slate and the lamb which fox ate I cry for the past and passages and memories of childhood.



 

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