As we begin a new year, looking back at 2014, some events cheered and some events saddened us but none more than the slaughter of little children in Peshawar! One can only shake one's head and hope that better sense prevails in 2015!
Twilight and Ill Winds
Shlok got a new bike this Christmas; waiting round the clock,
Jaden is the fastest kid on training wheels on the block,
Kunal does give him a run for his money, squealing as he rides by,
As Sheldon spills over on his roller skates and rises with a sigh!
Their joyous shouts mingle with the squawking parrots,
As the crows close their agenda and adjourn their conference,
The setting sun, blesses their brows with its golden glow,
As it kisses the day goodbye with a promise tomorrow to show!
In the distant police camp, a lone bugler signs the last post,
A reminder that civilised law must prevail from coast to coast,
Of this life's labours and travails we must extract the most,
So that the preservation of human life is no idle boast!
While those merry sounds enchant and warm our souls,
On our neighbours' forlorn windswept range,
Those tinkling voices are stilled as they lie in cold holes,
Unwilling inheritors of the ill winds of dubious change!
Antonio
Twilight and Ill Winds
Shlok got a new bike this Christmas; waiting round the clock,
Jaden is the fastest kid on training wheels on the block,
Kunal does give him a run for his money, squealing as he rides by,
As Sheldon spills over on his roller skates and rises with a sigh!
Their joyous shouts mingle with the squawking parrots,
As the crows close their agenda and adjourn their conference,
The setting sun, blesses their brows with its golden glow,
As it kisses the day goodbye with a promise tomorrow to show!
In the distant police camp, a lone bugler signs the last post,
A reminder that civilised law must prevail from coast to coast,
Of this life's labours and travails we must extract the most,
So that the preservation of human life is no idle boast!
While those merry sounds enchant and warm our souls,
On our neighbours' forlorn windswept range,
Those tinkling voices are stilled as they lie in cold holes,
Unwilling inheritors of the ill winds of dubious change!
Antonio
