⚠️ Warning: The following images depict graphic scenes of violence, poverty, grief, and despair related to the Taliban insurgency; viewer discretion is advised.

When the Taliban took over all of Afghanistan on 15 August, I realized that I had to say goodbye to my dreams. Life became bitter for me, I experienced depression as a teenager. My brain was burning, until one day I decided to write my mental state on paper, it was when I started writing. I am Sanamta Mushfiq (anonymous name), an 18-year-old girl born in the capital of Afghanistan. This is my story.
At Wingless Dreamer Publisher, our focus has always been on literary musings, wellness reflections, and artistic inspirations. We deliberately steer clear of political discourse, activism, or topics outside the literary spectrum. But things went differently last Monday afternoon; an email arrived in our inbox that changed everything. It was from Sanamta (a pseudonym to protect the sender’s identity), and it struck a chord so profound that we felt compelled to share it with the world.
This email wasn’t just a story; it was a plea, a mirror reflecting the privileges we often take for granted—privileges that should be revered daily, like the air we breathe. Time, like breath, is fragile and unforgiving. Note that. I repeat, Time, like breath, is fragile and unforgiving. In a single moment, it can shatter everything you know. Hold your breath for a few seconds, and life teeters on the edge; similarly, it only takes a heartbeat for the world as you know it to fall apart.
I left all the editorial tasks and business assignments and personally started working on this blog post to make sure the efforts made and life-risk taken by Sanamta do not go in vain. Let's hear her story and the Taliban's tribulations being brutally imposed on the ground.
The day Kabul fell


In this chaotic world,
I wish I was a stone
Without fatigue, without fear,
spending the rest of my life
at the bottom of a river - Sanamta
"The summer of 2021. It remains one of the saddest periods of my life and continues to this day. That day (August 15, 2021) I was at school; it was the last day of my exams. I never imagined I would have to bid farewell to school in such a way. I never thought Kabul would fall, without even a single gunshot, into the hands of the most ruthless and conscienceless individuals.
I vividly remember that day; it hasn’t left my mind for even a moment. I was 15 years old at that time, watching the news incessantly every day. The city was filled with terror; everyone was scared, barely stepping out of their homes. They lowered our tricolor flag and raised their own colorless banner. I realized that it was the end of the line. People rushed to the airport, desperate to leave the country, as no one had any hope left.
As for the airport scene, it’s enough to say that this incident alone could fill a book. I was terrified because I had heard rumors that they were abducting girls. Even the thought of such a thing happening to me made my body tremble."
Yes, Sanamta—who could ever erase the horrifying chaos of that airport scene from their mind? The screams, the desperation, the inhumanity carved into every second. And then, that moment—a baby, barely grasping the essence of life, was hauled across a barbed wire fence in a frantic bid to escape the clutches of the monstrous Taliban. Tiny hands grazed against cruel metal, an innocent body almost sacrificed to a desperate hope. The image burns like fire in memory—a raw, bleeding testament to a world gone mad.
Ringing School Bells of False Hope

"Fear, anxiety, stress.
At a young age, one can feel as if they’ve aged, with a hunched back, trembling hands, and enduring immense pain. I had dreams as a child, but unfortunately, I couldn’t achieve any of them. That night I went to the rooftop and looked at the sky. The darkness of that night was darker than usual, suffocating me. I kept wondering, “What will happen now?”
I felt a great fracture inside, as I had been destroyed from the inside. I looked at the moon and the mountains, and I could only shed tears, remembering all the dreams that withered away just as I wished to caress them. I told myself, “Nothing will ever be right again; nothing will be like it was before.”
Perhaps my body survived that night, but my soul never.
Something in me died that I still haven’t been able to recover.
March/22/2022
The day before, the Taliban didn’t say anything and rang the school bell. I didn’t have any hope, but I still went to school. When I reached the school gate, I saw the Taliban's vehicle parked there. I didn’t know what they wanted revenge for. When I entered the schoolyard, the principal told us that “girls below the sixth grade could go to their classrooms, but those above the sixth grade should wait for further instructions. I had expected this, but it still hit me hard. If they didn’t want to reopen schools for girls above sixth grade, why ring the bell in the first place? Why stand by the gate to observe reactions and immediately detain anyone who protested?
Sometimes, I get lost in thought. People tell me, “Don’t torment yourself so much.” But how can I forget how cold and barren my youth has been? Education, a dream, has turned into a nightmare. After the schools closed, with my parents’ help, I joined an English language center. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t ease the heaviness in my heart.
A few months into my English classes, I went out one day, and the city was chaotic again.
I didn’t know what had happened, as I approached, I saw Taliban vehicles blocking our language center.
All the teachers and students were returning home in tears. When I saw that scene, I picked up a stone from the ground and threw it at their vehicle.
One of the Taliban pointed his gun at me, if it weren’t for my teachers’ intervention, I might not be alive today.

On December/21/2022
The Taliban ordered the closure of all educational institutions for girls.
The next day, news spread that girls in several provinces had committed suicide, but the Taliban prohibited the release of statistics.
Reports indicated that the suicide rate among women had surpassed that of men by 2%.
I believe the main causes of suicide are restrictions, being cornered, discrimination, isolation and the inability to achieve one’s goals. Every day, new decrees are issued, and more restrictions are imposed on girls and women. The Taliban’s ruling, labeling women’s voice as “awrat” (forbidden), faced widespread backlash from women.
In the end, I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know if I will ever be the same again. If schools reopen, will I still have the same passion as before? Will I be able to free myself from this isolation? These questions haunt my mind every day, and I can’t find answers.
I close my eyes, hoping to dream as I used to, but each day I feel more suffocated. There is someone who grips my throat with bloody, angry hands, preventing me from dreaming again. When I open my eyes, I see it’s not just one person. It’s a group of oppressors determined to bury me and all those like me in suffocation."
After reading this, me and the Wingless Dreamer Team left dumbfounded. We've already forwarded this blog to other publishers, news channels, activists, and even wrote to the United Nations Office of Counter-Terrorism. We request you to do the same.
Although, in the process, we as a publishing company for the first time found words cannot adequately capture the depth of our sufferings, no matter how hard you try. On behalf of the Wingless Dreamer team, I would like to send a message to Samanta and to many other girls:
The pain of shattered dreams is beyond measure, and the courage it takes to keep moving forward amid relentless oppression is incomprehensible. Your story stands as a heart-wrenching testament to resilience, a powerful reminder of the unimaginable suffering endured by so many under the brutal rule of the Taliban.
We grieve for the childhood stolen from you, the education denied, and the countless moments of fear and despair that no one should ever endure. Yet, in the midst of this pain, your bravery shines through. By sharing your truth, you not only honor your own journey but also give voice to countless others who are silenced.
Know that your words have the power to inspire change and ignite compassion. You are not alone, and the world hears your story. We stand with you, grieving, fighting, and hoping for a day when no one has to live under such inhumanity again.
With deepest sympathy and unyielding solidarity,
Wingless Dreamer Publisher
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