I am a New York City based supporter of your organization. I saw a member of RAWA speak at V-day in Madison Square Garden. She was for me, and for others, the most moving speaker of the evening, which was great all around. She moved me to write a poem for her and for the women of Afghanistan, indeed all women, for there is a trend for suppression of woman's rights in the name of 'religion' and "family" all around the world. I wish I knew her name, they announced it, but it was not on the program. If you know her name could you please e-mail it to me, so I can dedicate this poem to her when I read it. I understand it might not be her real name, for her protection. She is twenty-three, very beautiful and very brave. Please dedicate this poem to her and to all the women of Afghanistan. Her honesty and bravery inspired and moved me deeply. I am a poet and spoken-word performer, and I will be reading this poem and spreading word of your situation. Please accept this poem as a gift to read at your function on March 8, International Women's Day. If there is anything in it that is culturally not correct, let me know! I am still doing research for it, but wanted to offer it in a heartfelt way.

Support and love,

Clara Sala

In her face
her whole country was blown apart
a ceramic pot dropped and trampled
each piece carefully picked up and hidden
in her face
was a whole painfully glued together
in her determined amber eyes
clear with hard truth
speak it:
                The murder of your father & mother
husband-to-be who
will be your lover now?
who will cry your skin's
                spring honey
flowing through hills of drought
under the pale lunar cycle of your cheeks
                your lips wet with shock
your plea
                wails over a flooding lake
the shape of your skeleton
tall under the burqa
she walks onstage
her soul a siren's red swivel
the roots of a tree gripping below granite
                a nervous system of tears
                               delicate, blue
used to be her favorite color
                blue the color of truth
                blue the color of sky
                smiling in mountain streams
                blue the color of God
                blue-violet of dusk
used to be her favorite hour
heaven before our beginning
Venus' diamond blur yearning with lovers
                under the trees
                under the burqa
men she cannot see beat her
                with stones
                for showing one arm
her whole life:
                her husband kissing with her
                in their kitchen
to be again her cherished moment
                returning together from work
                in the University, the market, the hospital, the shop
                hugging her children
                cooking smells of lamb and eggplant
deep blue hour of prayer call
                of every day acts made holy
                in the freedom of her home.