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The irony of the seasons

By Shaila Anwar From Ottawa
The day is over the night creeps In.
As dusk falls over the trees.
All quiet lay the fields of rice A calm sets on the seas.
Fireflies light the darkened paths
Joining one village to another
Along the roads, flower petals close in a lazy, solemn slumber (Up in) The still night sky. the moon disappears. A void of sound becomes.
Silent, but for the wind s slow moan
Like a whisper's desolate hum.
Slowly, gently. a breeze curls in.
Wrapped round a plam tree blade
The wind seeps through the thin bamboo shoots From which a small hut is made.
The smell of uncertainty hangs hauntingly
Uke an unmentionable fear
A sharpened chill cuts through the air
Above, the sky grows unclear.
The night grows dense, the air is moist.
The quiet lives no more.
A powerful wind comes howling in
The ocean sleeps no longer
A clap of thunder, a flash of hght.
The waves begin to roll.
Ominous grows, the once-gentle breeze.
The fear chokes one and all.
Rain cascades down on the sandy coast
With a steady, streaming beat.
From inside the huts, children waken
Tb see Mother Nature s treat
But never-ending, is the summer gale.
As the sea lets out a roar
The sky releases a ruthless crack
The clamouring wind the angry ocean
Take prey upon the land.
With onesartftbtow of hi- hand
With power no human can deny
On this the Judgement Day.
The voiceieae cries, have been al washed out.
The night turns into day
The violent sererSty
The morning sun displays
•hows the sSenelng of hunwrfty.
of Port
Jaoimwddin J