Afghan Girl

Sharbat GulaSteve McCurry, 1984

As if broken in uponBy the spirit of God,She turns to look.

Daughter,From a psalm of King David.Happened upon

In a refugee tentIn Nasir Bagh,In a temporary encampment

In the North-West Frontier ProvinceOf western Pakistan,During a breathing spell in war.

A lost flight out of EgyptBrought to a halt in 1984At the edge of Peshawar.

A girl the colorOf sawdust shavingsFrom the cedars of Lebanon,

And a glance, inadvertently granted:An onslaught of greenIn Kodachrome 64.

A glance King David could have seen,Looking up "at the turnOf the year, the time when kings

Had gone forth to battle"—As if, looking up, he had foundThe child of a slain Philistine,

Standing no further from himThan the length of an arrow.Standing her ground.

________

Light green sea glassWashed up on a shoreIn Canaan,

The music of Psalm 33,Unfaded: He hathGathered the waters of the sea

Into jars. He layeth upThe ocean depthsIn storehouses—

Found, hoarded, tradedInto landlocked AfghanistanFrom the treasury of David.

________

The photographer saidIt was a kind of "blue-green-gray"—The gray tint

Fugitive, tent-lit,An illusory pane of glass, flash-seenThen vanishing

Among the steep, dark-greenQuarry walls of a refugee tent.A shade of gray evolved

As camouflage, far westOf Nasir Bagh, among the gray peaksGuarding Persepolis:

A clutch of Persian Eagle eggsWind-accosted in a nestBuilt on a precipice.

________

In a glance,An overhanging senseOf Pashtun magnificence,

The unalterable codeOf asylum for the enemyAnd hospitality for the stranger

Without expectationOf return, however destituteThe circumstance.

A glance that is at once hostageAnd its ownImmeasurable ransom, bestowed

In the poverty of a campBy a twelve-year-oldWith a grave, Islamic courtesy.

Translucent planesOf yellow-litBlue-gray-green—

A roughed-out chunkOf aquamarine,Unpolished, uncut,

Its presence first hinted atBy a visible planeOf microcrystalline,

Recently clawedFrom the gem-bearing pegmatiteIn the cliffs of Nuristan,

As if her people had opened a veinIn a quarry they dugIn the kingdom of God.

The gem, unloosenedFrom the granite's gripWith delicate hand-tools,

Is washed repeatedlyOf its enclosing grit and clay,With expert care.

Though nothing can wash awayIts blue-gray-green.Because Allah has stored it there.

________

In Sura 3:44Of the noble Qur'anThe archangels cast lots

To determine which of themWould be entitled to care for her.The child, Maryam.

Found here at the momentAn angel has offered her waterTo sip from his palm.

Green marble chippedFrom the quarriesOf Lashkar Gah

And set into mortarIn the turquoise glazeOf the mosque at Kandahar

Where a glimpse before purdahTessellates in the wallsAnd startles the angels of Allah,

His Messengers disarmedBy a suddenly broken lawIn the mosaic.

A gaze older than Islam,More archaicThan the precepts it violates.

________

Wild olive branch,Carved in the idol workshopOf Azar.

Even Ibrahim was disarmed.Even he, breaking the idols,Kept this one unharmed.

________

A Hadith tellsOf the archangel Gabriel'sRefusal to set foot

Into the Prophet's tent,Because the angel was certainThat, though unbeknownst

To Mohammed, an imageWas housed within—Perhaps a picture

Woven in a threadbare cushionOr faded in a curtainLong unnoticed, half forgotten,

Among the Prophet'sScant possessions.But so accursed are pictures

In the Qur'an that evenMohammed—blameless,Awaiting the angel's dictation—

Even he was left to wait,Unvisited, while GabrielLingered, unable to enter

Because no image that is "madeAs an act of creation,"May be displayed

Or stored out of sight,Beheld, or kept unseen,Either secretly or unawares—

On the Internet, a true believerInquires: is all photographyAgainst religious law?

The rulings of the...