ニューヨーク・タイムズのインスタグラム(nytimes) - 7月3日 00時58分

Zaheer Ahmad Zindani thought he could see. He was 17 and in a hospital bed, heavily drugged and covered with shrapnel wounds from a Taliban bomb. He asked the doctor for a mirror. “The doctor told me, ‘Son, you don’t have eyes, how will you be able to see your eyes?’” Zaheer recalled. “I raised my hand to feel my eyes — it was the ashes after a fire has burned, and nothing else.” That was 5 years ago. The reality of his blindness made him howl with grief, and another realization took his breath away: His love for his childhood sweetheart had already been difficult because the girl’s family didn’t consider him worthy. Now, it was surely doomed. “If I had lost my eyes and had her hand, I would still be happy,” he said. “But now I neither have eyes, nor her.” Zaheer is now protesting a war that has, so far, swallowed his father, his uncle, his sister, his sight and his love. He is illiterate. But he’s also a poet. At home, he has 50 pages of original poetry that he dictated to his siblings. One of the last images he has of the girl he loved, before she married someone else, is a quiet moment on the porch after dinner. She brought him fresh pomegranate juice. He recited to her one of his latest verses: “I am too scared to even drink water / It may fade my beloved’s name on my heart.” @jimhuylebroek took this photo of Zaheer at a mosque in Ghazni, Afghanistan. Visit the link in our profile to read more.

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