We know that many nations have got involved in the country over the years and now – after many of these stories had actually been penned – the country was left summarily in late Summer 2021 to its own devices. Women once again have been forced to remain absent from mainstream life, stripped of their hard won rights, which is such a depressingly regressive step for so many. Women ran madly; the blast caught them by surprise. They were used to suicide bombers, but not at a wedding. Tables and chairs were blown across the hall, as other guests stood still in terror. Work with the media. We keep them updated with stories from Brussels and Strasbourg, answer queries, hold press briefings and offer journalists the chance to visit the EP. We also correct lies and fake news, and have an active social media presence They walk away and wave to you. You see your mother. She is standing just a few metres away. She does not laugh, does not smile at you. She does not talk. She just looks at you with disbelief, and her face glistens from a distance. Maybe it is wet with tears. My Pillow’s Journey of Eleven Thousand, Eight Hundred, and Seventy-six Kilometers - Farangis Elyassi – Never thought a story about a pillow would be so poignant. Loved the whole experience. - 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

I like that there are stories in the collection that depicted violent men in the community, just as much as there are stories where male characters loved and respected their women folks dearly. An] arresting collection . . . Written in simple, direct prose and offers vivid snapshots of a country beset by war and violence . . . It seems more important than ever to read the work of these courageous writers” Financial Times envies the potted flowers and grass planted in the middle of the road, lying quiet amid all the noise.For those reading in English, the original phrase offers a glimpse of a new and disturbing way of thinking about women. Powerful, profound and deeply moving, new fiction by Afghan women writers will expand your mind and elevate your heart" ELIF SHAFAK A woman’s fortitude saves her village from disaster. A teenager explores their identity in a moment of quiet. A petition writer reflects on his life as a dog lies nursing her puppies. A tormented girl tries to find love through a horrific act. A headmaster makes his way to work, treading the fine line between life and death. I was left alone, and so was the empty house. I wanted to be seen; I was hidden from everyone else, but I wanted to be seen, myself for myself’ – from I Don’t Have the Flying Wings, Batool Haidari trs. Parwana Fayyaz My pen is the wing of a bird; it will tell you those thoughts we are not allowed to think, those dreams we are not allowed to dream.“

The collection’s lyrical title is a quote from one of the writers, Batool Haidari, which is worth repeating in full: “My pen is the wing of a bird; it will tell you these thoughts we are not allowed to think, these dreams we are not allowed to dream.” The first of Haidari’s two memorable stories is about a young man who, conflicted by his sexual identity and frustrated by an unforgiving culture, yearns to dress in women’s clothing and wear make-up. The second, “Khurshid Khanum, Rise and Shine”, is about a father who, desperate to return to his family after having been kidnapped for six years, discovers that his wife, believing him dead, has remarried.My Pen Is the Wing of a Bird is a landmark collection: the first anthology of short fiction by Afghan women. Eighteen writers tell stories that are both unique and universal - stories of family, work, childhood, friendship, war, gender identity and cultural traditions. Blossom is another story where readers see this unwavering courage on display through a young schoolgirl called Nekbakht. Students of Sayed ul-Shuhada high school who died in a school bombing inspired this story.