If I were a song writer I would celebrate Kabul with a Blues.
And I would call my song Burqa Blues.
It would be about melancholy and resilience.
It would be about strength, pain, loneliness.
And about love, of course.
It would be about the violent light that makes this city unforgettable.
It would be about the impossibly blue skies on clear winter days.
It would be about women hopping between patches of frozen roads, holding their burqas in one hand and an infant child in the other.
It would be about the blue hue of the flame inside the bukhari before the fire fully starts burning the saw dust.
It would be about boys and girls painting the blue and white grid of the world seen through the burqa.
It would be about women’s ankles.
About what one sees, what one imagines, what one fantasises.