the queen of kabul

Today I realized that no she would ever kiss his grandmothers hands -
and I was suddenly all healed up.
My content rolled in close to my pillow and
I could smell her hair.
There is no sweeter love than hers -
without words for the thousands of miles between our language
and the truth is- our language has always been love.
Perhaps the shes can sleep at night and
not know what they’re missing-
but I sleep holding all I’ve had.
And I cant wait till Sunday to hear the chirp of her sincere-
every day can be my Sunday.

Ive been loved by ‘The Queen of Kabul’.
The world blooms in a kiss hidden in the palms of her hands

~ amy jaan