LATE, in the seventh hour of the seventh day. Not to have helped in the time of Saville.
But to have sat on the hill.
No voice for the voiceless, the young and innocent. Overpowered and engulfed by the evil strong.
But, to sit on the hill having done no wrong.
Not to find them, storm the building, hold the hold they yearn for, just once, for we are now all in the mill.
But to sit on that there comfortable hill.
Not to question or to walk. All the discomfort, the strife, the job itself and all the dollars lost.
But in empty honour, to ignore, the bore, to refrain against the strain.
All the training, all the change, the valour and all the pain.
But, was this not all in vein?
Never to see your wife or child in this line, for you have the devil’s word, assurance in writing.
So to the hill, with your precious paper in hand. “They must not be in all this fighting”.
Part of the job it is, to strike down a father who might search. To silence all who may descent.
And when your power is all spent, tired, then to head for the ascent.
Late in the seventh hour of the seventh day. To finally and in earnest think. The fall the failure of man, the disgrace, conscious heavy and a gloomy face. “I have been watching my world in flame”
But correct and true, we are all to blame.
22nd September 2026
Mr. Vishal Nanda
