2016 | Samiullah Rasouli | Afghanistan

Love

If you love me for my beauty,
Then love me not.
Love instead the sun and its rays.

If you love me for my youth,
Then love me not.
Fall in love instead with the spring,
For it comes again each year.

If you love me for my money,
Then love me not.
Love instead the Pari.¹

If you love me because I am the right boy,
Then you should love me.
Love me as long,
As long as I can return your love.

¹ <em>mythological fish that carries rubies and emeralds in its mouth</em>

This poem won an award.

Samiullah Rasouli → Short biography

Ghazni | Afghanistan

Samiullah Rasouli (*1999) was born in Ghazni, Afghanistan. He attended school for five years until his father's death, after which he had to earn money for the family. At the end of 2015, he arrived in Germany with his cousin at the age of 16, and they were on the run for about 40 days. In Berlin, Samiullah had no opportunity to attend school for almost a year.

At first, he only knew that the language in Germany was very difficult, and he eventually learned it in a welcome class. He achieved a B2 level and was able to begin training as a hotel manager with the help of his mentor. Next, he wants to obtain his high school diploma and then study politics. The most challenging situation in Germany for him was when he received the news of his impending deportation. It was only in a subsequent court proceeding that it was decided that Samiullah could stay in Germany. In 2018, he was awarded the Else Lasker-Schüler Poetry Prize.

More poems by Samiullah Rasouli:

Afghanistan | Samiullah Rasouli | 2016

Women

When I say women, I mean real women,
Those with eyebrows, real noses, and shoulders.
Who belong only to themselves from the beginning,

Afghanistan | Samiullah Rasouli | 2016

Nimruz

We sat on the flatbed of the truck,
In the desert of Nimruz, when we saw seven corpses.
Who had killed these poor people?
We got off to look at the dead.
The men were young, 20, 21 years old,
All dead, except for one.

He was still breathing.

Afghanistan | Samiullah Rasouli | 2016

Father

A hundred kisses I send to the dust
That your feet whirl up.
A hundred times melancholy you had to suffer to find bread.
If only I could become the calluses on your hand.