Listen to my voice,
That rolls, reflects and echoes in the sad and broken valleys of your land,
Listen to my voice, as I murmur your pain that is closely woven into mine,
Listen to my tale of senseless and insane destruction of a civilization,
Bear with me, as I tell you the tales of terror, fear and horror of your land,
As I tell you the saga of helpless Afghans,
As I mourn the tragedy of your destruction, and the fall of a great nation,
Your ruins and my head both did not crunch the thirst of barbarians,
How ridiculous that your silent, peaceful existence and my spark of ideas and logic,
Posed a deadly threat to THEIR hollow, poisonous existence!
Your ashes and my beheaded body,
Went unnoticed and forgotten,
Just like the death of thousands before you and after me,
In the precious land, sadly ruled by ignorant unruly.
Your place is empty,
Like an eye drawn from its socket,
When my mother went blind,
As she sobbed herself to sleep each night with the vision of my beheaded body.
Your destruction will always remind mankind of the suffering,
Of women beaten, men beheaded, and children imprisoned.
Though your tenacious statue is no more,
We can declare with pride, honor, and glory,
That Buddha suffered alongside his people to ensure,
The world witnessed and will remember forever the agony of the Afghan nation.
I know that You wanted to be no more because of intolerable savagery,
That You longed for ending the endless pain that you felt in your nation,
They tell us You intended to fall in the land of lunies,
Not as a gesture of surrender and submission,
But as a rebellious voice of voiceless,