The day began with tears of emotion and excitement,
And all set in His plan predestined ever before His creation
That two little souls would be united for a purpose
With God it would be revealed, but to mankind, hidden always.

Twenty four milestones have been crossed with thorns and roses trod,
No mortal on their rescue was prepared to seek them into safe arms;
Yet it is HE Who has carried the twain souls in His Arms.

Mockery lashed at them; stones pelted at them; rivalry set ‘gainst them;
Stories cooked ‘gainst them; venom spewed at them,
It was God-sent angels who hid them in their wings.

Predators set to eat their flesh and blood but in vain,
For it is His Providence That carried them in His *****.

They crossed sixteen milestones, and on the way to Seventeenth,
God revealed His plan unto them with a Gift from His Arms,
And three souls have been added into His Fold.


Their Twenty fifth milestone is set to walk further,
And the three souls have laid themselves in His Arms.
Heaven crowned the three with His Golden Promise
And they shall be in His Providence till the ages go.

Time may have excelled anecdotes, but anecdotes never are forgotten:
She woke up a little bit earlier, and looked for morning drink,
None except her old grandma was her sole refuge;
Yet her dad would go on trade and mischief,
And his visit to home would be rather once or twice a while.
The dawn of the day looked ominous in and out,
And she could not unravel the mystery of the day’s dark countenance,
She took her subjects and planned herself for the day at school.
There was no cry of birds around, and there was no light in,
She was prepared to link herself with the chain of life as usual.
Ubiquitous silence prevailed everywhere and it was much more that day.
She called her mom, as she would call the grandma so,
There was silence, and suddenly there was heard a bird’s cry,
Thrice she called her mom, but silence peeped in and out.
Her call was responded but by a strange cry of vulture.
Where did the vulture’s cry come from? She was at stake.
All in a sudden she was hit by a crow inside her chamber,
And she ran to the trembling corpse of her mom,
She shook the corpse and shouted for her life.
Could she have known the corpse would come back to life?
She was just in her teens that the world to her was distant.
The corpse of her mom lay still despite her utter cry,

Terrorists’ work of devilishness reflected of deterioration of peace,
Surmounted with hellish and purposeless dogma in religion,
What did the innocent do with terrorism?
I watched on the screen how human arms had waved for help,
How victims had fallen from top to the ground zero,
How the splendid tower had been collapsing down
When the monstrous killer plane had plunged into cubicles
When computers had had their tasks with their engineers,
How the second predator dived into the concrete chambers,
How human splendor had crashed in no time:
Might be human pride ‘gainst the Heavenly Glory.
Clouds of smoke and ash had swallowed the hosts and guests,
Sons and daughters had lost their fathers and mothers,
Fathers and mothers had forgotten the memory of their children,
Lovers and lady loves had been shattered without their fulfillment.
What would have happened to the human less predators on flight,
Might be burnt and charred with the steel machine elsewhere?
Do these human less predators work for emptiness in void?
Candles and flowers being carried by the kith and kin of the victims,
And their tribute is the homage to their beloved ones;
Yet is this act done out of ignorance, or of love, or of human bond?
The game was over, but the allusions and metaphors are on stage,
And they are the images of events to come beyond human wit.
A mark of memory and cry diluted by human prayers seen at Ground Zero
With tears rolled down the cheeks of the victims buried beneath.
I could still hear the distant cry of the victims with their arms waved,
The click sounds of the computer buttons can ne’er be erased,
And the bellows of the pounding tower are the death toll still heard.
Terror predators are still awake with their brandishing missiles,
And let’s all break the wings of the predators with our faith in the Lord,
And He will charge them with His Eternal Word on the Day of His Coming.
The Day is not far, and is imminent, must be fair and good in His sight.

Terrorists’ work of devilishness reflected of deterioration of peace,
Surmounted with hellish and purposeless dogma in religion,
What did the innocent do with terrorism?
I watched on the screen how human arms had waved for help,
How victims had fallen from top to the ground zero,
How the splendid tower had been collapsing down
When the monstrous killer plane had plunged into cubicles
When computers had had their tasks with their engineers,
How the second predator dived into the concrete chambers,
How human splendor had crashed in no time:
Might be human pride ‘gainst the Heavenly Glory.
Clouds of smoke and ash had swallowed the hosts and guests,
Sons and daughters had lost their fathers and mothers,
Fathers and mothers had forgotten the memory of their children,
Lovers and lady loves had been shattered without their fulfillment.
What would have happened to the human less predators on flight,
Might be burnt and charred with the steel machine elsewhere?
Do these human less predators work for emptiness in void?
Candles and flowers being carried by the kith and kin of the victims,
And their tribute is the homage to their beloved ones;
Yet is this act done out of ignorance, or of love, or of human bond?
The game was over, but the allusions and metaphors are on stage,
And they are the images of events to come beyond human wit.
A mark of memory and cry diluted by human prayers seen at Ground Zero
With tears rolled down the cheeks of the victims buried beneath.
I could still hear the distant cry of the victims with their arms waved,
The click sounds of the computer buttons can ne’er be erased,
And the bellows of the pounding tower are the death toll still heard.
Terror predators are still awake with their brandishing missiles,
And let’s all break the wings of the predators with our faith in the Lord,
And He will charge them with His Eternal Word on the Day of His Coming.
The Day is not far, and is imminent, must be fair and good in His sight.

(Solitary Chamber. Heart breaking melodious music is flowing silently. Young Ren is looking pale, soliloquizing.)

Young Ren:  Sweet Flance!
                     Can you hear me?
                     I do know you can never see me now;
                     But hear me --- my words at least!

Feel my heart that hangs on nothing;
Yet resting itself on my unrequited love.
  
                     Hear me! Do hear me!

Send thy spirit unto me awhile,
And hearken my silent words.

                     Dear Flance!
Thou must be now with thy partner
Breaking thy footprints with me once;
Yet ne'er am I angry with thee.
From him I should not take thee away;
Yet listen unto me awhile.

                      Dear Flance!

I loved thee not at the very first sight
Like Orlando and Rosalind ---
Orlando was a wrestler,
Rosalind was a fair lady.

Their love began at an arena in a contest ---
Rosalind in the guise of Ganymede,
Their love passed thro' rustic lands
Symbolizing the art of Nature,
Their love stirred the young hearts
With wonder and fancy.

Sweet Flance!
                       Romeo died of Juliet and Juliet of Romeo ---
                        Breaking endurance to chaos.
                       There was poison in their love.
Dear Flance!
                       Jealousy lingered in the fatal love
                       Betwixt Othello and Desdemona,
                       At night their love was born,
                       At night their love was dead
                       When blackened by the candle light.
Dear Flance!
                        Lysander loved Hermia
                        And sought fanciful beings
                        For their fanciful union.
Dear Flance!
                       Know you, Keats died of consumption?
                      His love for ***** Brown was limitless,
                      And so burst into tears.
                      Oh! No!
                     MY love for thee can never have comparisons.
Sweet Flance!
                     Blossomed my love for thee
                    When thou wert young,
                     When thou wert beautiful;
                     Yet it's not of Romeo's,
                     Of Othello's,
                     Of Lysander's,
                     Of Dante's,
                     Of Keats',
                     For they died of their love.





My love for thee be unrequited; yet ineffable.
You felt not my love; yet I cannot be Romeo.
Know you?
                Romeo loved Juliet,
                Juliet loved Romeo,
                And so they died without love.
Loved I thy heart, not thee?
Love I thy heart, not thee?
And so,
             We live in remembrance of each other.
Dear Flance!  
              Thou must be now living with thy partner
               Rejoicing in his presence.
               Can you think of me living myself.
               Rejoicing in my thoughts of you?
               Here am I in the air with wings waxed;
              Yet I'll not fall down to fragments.

              Know you?  
              I am to lead my life myself,
              But with thoughts of you!

              For
                    Loved I thee, still I love thee,
                                           Ever I'll love thee.

(Young Ren sheds tears)

Sweet Flance!

My tears are not of my loneliness sans thee;
But born of bliss within me with thoughts of you.

              (Curtain  Falls)

Nature decked with white snow,
Everywhere there is purity and serenity,
Water is icy cold looking like white sheets of paper,
White clouds play with white snow,
Mountains are capped with snowy wreaths,
Trees and their leaves are dressed with white garments,
Wintry seeds lay across hidden beneath the white snow,
Sheep and cattle play winter games,
Boys and girls scramble through snowy homes,
Men and women watch their kids play in joy.
It is winter that makes everyone cool and cold.

I was a mason and am meant for daily wages,
With me are helpers, young, old, men and women,
And we are the builders, but we do not own the building.
Yet, we own the building till the last patch of the masonry.
We sleep in the storey; dry our clothes, cook our food;
We scatter our belongings and we rule the building a while.
People think we’re just masons, but we’re the kings of the construction.

They say it’s their home or shop to make money for their ‘statuses,
But who is the owner of the property,
And no one on earth is the owner of anything.

On morning we brush our teeth; clean our bowels;
We clean our body; we fill our bowels;
And we take our tools to break and cement the walls.
The sun sets that we shall crawl to our beds,
And our body twisted to stretch out from pain.

Every day we the kings till the last patch of our work,
And no one questions our stay under the roof.
We shall permit even the ‘owner’ of the roof.

We become ‘untouchable’ after our last stroke.
We make them ‘comfortable’ for their stay with our sweat,
And they threw coins at our sweat.

Yet we have not lost our kingship, for we shall regain it
When we’re called for another construction.
We’re happy with our kingship ‘cause we are kings of many homes,
But they ‘own’ a bit of the land.

None on earth is the owner of the land,
For HE Who hath created it is its Owner,
And we’re HIS tenants staying a while,
And we play gimmicks to mimic the outrageous traitor,
And the traitor is the law-breaker, who counteracts the Creator,
But in vain he brandishes his sword against the Mighty.