The smile with dreamy eyes. Prominent breasts. The gait, the look in her eyes.

She walks past my room every day before dusk. Her eyes will look for me. She will smile for me. I also try to smile back. I feel weak and the joy in my heart doesn't translate into an expression. She does not know who I am. She probably thinks I own the place. She might think and act differently if she knows who I am. I also don't know who she is. A student, a proffessional? I don't care, in fact. She is the embodiment of beauty, an epic poem. What could be her name? I cannot think of anybody else. She has created a storm in my life. 

'How desperate am I for a kiss, for a lively hug? How does a woman look like without clothes? I don't know! I will, some day. To touch, to kiss, to hug.' Imagining the smell of a woman, I look at the crowded streets by the windows, every day. By evening, the ray of hope becomes a bright star, which wears different colors every day. The saree, the handbag, the earrings and the shoes- all are of the same color. 

Today, the bright lights in the streets have just been turned on, and the only bright spot in my life is walking past my door. My hearbeats drown the noise outside. She looks at me with her deep eyes, and walks away. I locked the door and started walking towards her. She could hear my footsteps, and she slowed down. I joined her and we started walking together in beautiful harmony. I am reminded of all the melodies I have listened to. She looked at me and she smiles with affection. She asks with a voice which was probably tinged with interest  - "Where to?"

I tried to answer with a smile - "Where do I go to?!". I started sweating. My mouth is dry. I can smell her perfume, or are they the flowers that she wore? Her face like a full moon. Her lips like roses. Her hair dark like the night. I felt like kissing her all over - through her transparent saree, the breasts ready to free themselves from her bra. She has an umbrella in her left hand and a kerchief in her right. 

We walked together for some more time. I felt like a mute. The landlady's BMW passed by. I made myself invisible by moving to the shade - I am yet to the pay the rent for the month. I looked around and realised I am alone. The kerchief near my feet!

I bent down and picked it up. Precious piece of cloth - which has kissed her lips, with her sweat on it. I kissed it - a thousand times. I hid it inside my jacket, as close to the heart as possible.

Today is Martyr Day. Martyr Day commemorates the assassination of the former leader of the Northern Alliance, Ahmad Shah Massoud, by suicide bombers on September 9, 2001.

Martyr Day is an official holiday of the Government of the Islamic Republic of Afghanistan. Like most holidays here, it doesn't happen according to a hard and fast rule, but is instead declared annually by the president.

It is declared each year on the day after the Friday closest to September 9th. Since Friday is the Sabbath in Muslim-dominated Afghanistan, this amounts to a long weekend.

This year, Martyr Day was celebrated by the forces opposed to the democratically elected government with a suicide bombing in Kabul. The bombing happened at one of the largest traffic circles in town, which by no coincidence happens to have a massive monument to Massoud in the center of it.

The victims were random pedestrians, including schoolchildren. Security forces, domestic or foreign, were not targeted in the attack.

Happy Martyr Day.

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