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The war

I want to paint – children waving to their poor parents, the smell of the smoke burning my lungs, the train rattling like bombs plummeting to the ground.

 

I want to paint – children shivering in the whirling wind, the taste of burnt blood rattiling like a volcano in my mouth, the guns rouring loud as a lion.

 

I want to paint- A plane soaring through the sky poised when it see a barage balloons, the train driver shouting “ All aboard “ , my mother giving me a hug.

 

I want to paint – the end of this war.

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