touch and press on the pictures, please with your mouse There is the question of war. The question of people dying unceremoniously. Bodies fleeing, running, crying, decomposing, in disbelief. The promise of birth is to live. When the labour of birth starts, there is no going back. Stop, I've changed my mind. Stop, I don't want to be born. Stop, I don't want to give birth, I don't want it to hurt. It hurts. Were it not that we know, were it not that history happened. Why is it that children die? What is the lesson? You died in my arms, I saw your body, your face, asking, "is this what it is?" No one wants to die like that. Everyone wants to live, and then die, graciously.