Afghan, Zoran Marinovic

A long, dusty avenue takes you from the airport to the center of Kabul, the capital of Afghanistan. Although the road was renovated by the international community only a couple of months ago, our vehicle manages to hit a hole every couple of minutes. There are many holes on this half hour drive. The shield of the transporter vehicles bleeps on each site where a car-bomb exploded, and there lies the unmarked grave of a suicide bomber. Surprise attacks, numerous casualties, disbelief and fear, are the only signposts on this tiresome avenue today. When peace becomes reality and then vanishes. Where does God come to cry?

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