Wrapped delicately in a cloth,
Aflame with the passionate red once in her heart,
It’s ripped in places,
Neglected and disregarded,
Two things she’s become accustomed to.
Dark, soft hair flows from her scalp,
Curled and tangled atop her head.
Silky warm depth to her tan skin,
Across her smooth, untouched face,
She wears a complexion of warning,
And houses a set of haunting eyes,
Neither her mothers nor fathers

Emerald eyes near perfection,
Vibrant verdant gems,
Beyond human beauty and being.
Divinity and surrealism her gaze,
Those eyes which are so radiant,
And so scared,
Haunted themselves.
Eyes that have seen blood spilt,
Eyes which have seen torment,
Eyes that witnessed unspeakable human suffering.
She holds in her eyes,
The agony of a nation,
The loss of innocence of a land

Eyes so beautiful,
Carry with them so much injustice,
Hold so much pain,
Hide so much sorrow,
Bathed in tears,
Her glance has seen so much life lost,
That it might kill in its own right

No one knows her name,
And if they do,
they do not speak it.
She is the girl from Afghanistan,
With the eyes of the Angels