Today I read the news about the bomb blasts in the central market of Kabul. As an Afghan girl the first thing that engages my mind is my family. Are they fine? It is the first question which makes my heart fear. It is very fearful for me to hear that something dangerous has happened very near to them. However, there is not only my family in danger: danger of war, danger of Taliban who consider them as the best people. There are too many families who are hanging between life and death, and that some of them have lost someone today because of the bomb blast. I don’t know what those people have done to destiny that instead they have to face those problems back. I remember the time when I was in Kabul. I remember the poor people shouting the prices and good quality of their materials in that market so that people will buy one, and they will have a morsel of meal at least for that night. I remember their dry lips and their rough hands picking lots of selling materials. I remember every moment and now those moments give me pain which burns me from inside; it burns my heart, my mind, and my thoughts. Nine people have been killed, so nine families have gone out of shelter. They don’t know where to go. Their children’s eyes long for happiness not the dead body of his father. Sometimes I think I should be there to join them and share their sorrow with them, but I wonder, “Why should they have any sorrow?” I have seen the widows who had to bury her all dreams and happiness with the body of her husband. And along with happiness of a widow and a child all the happiness of Afghanistan has been buried.