just before a good weekend with family,
it is raining and I am standing outside alone,
enjoying the rain. Inside, the phone
rings, I see my mom answering.
She talks on the phone, but there are tears
in her eyes. I run to her, to know what is happening.
She puts the phone back, silently,
and I say, Mom, Mom, tell me.
The suicide attack . . .
killed my two cousins in Kabul city . . .
who were newly married the other month . . .
We both started crying.
We could not do anything else, except cry for them—
It was strange for me,
that one minute before I was enjoying the rain,
but now I was crying.
I do not know when the suicide attacks
Every day, every day there is a bombing
somewhere, and every day people are killed.
When I leave home at morning for my office,
I ask myself, Will I come back alive
to my home this evening?
Can anyone answer?