At

at war, -i could still hear our tired feet passed this plain, wind chills our bodies soaked at early dawn rain- i sat at the side, eager to absorbed, all what I heared from my old man's tale cold breeze breath and made us shivered, as if a ghost from the past, sat in under the acacia, as if it was ready to hear the pain- "we are at war, nineteen eighty nine, and in the late seventies most of the boys lost their lives, including mine, that, i was long gone with them, I don't understand. at peace, -inside a small house, we call' a war room' my old man were dead few years back, we talked about politics, it could be a new walk can you walk with us? they asked, eagerly though I'm skeptic, i nod- we went out on the streets, after few hours dancing in the air, sat on the side, placards lay on my tired hand throwed a long glimpse toward the sky i think rain come tonight, one of us, positively uttered. we look at him, and all eyes raised up towards the gathering of the moonson clouds, still i don't understand.