You were the twelve-year-old twins from Poonch district in Jammu and Kashmir, but you weren't intelligent enough, Urba and Zain, to visualize fangs of death coming to take both of you in her deadly shackles. Yes, how could you know on that fateful early morning of 7th May, when you both were busy preparing to go to school with pleasure? But the arrows of death reached you both through cross-border shelling, silencing your purest smile and playful antics. Though the shells from the guns don't know the names of their victims, they are guided by the destiny's secret instructions. Till the time your parents, teachers and your dearest pals are alive, they will miss your infectious presence throughout. There will be no takers of beautiful and tasty birthday cakes carefully planted on a china clay platter; surely, there will be no return gifts anymore in future times. Also, no birthday songs will reverberate in the small drawing rooms of your rented house. This is the insane killing which the Lord of Death too, will not be happy to receive. He will certainly cry secretly in his closed enclave. Wars will be fought, innocent people across the border will be killed overnight, and the guns will sing as usual, the dreadful dirge; the future will be the same without carrying any imprints of the horrendous past. But let me assure you, poor Urba and Zain, that despite all this, humanity will survive the tough times; your enchanting smile and innocent glow of your faces, will always waft over the gentle winds; the stories of your blind murder will be told from generations to generations, reminding everyone that violence has no place in our lives. Rest in peace, where you both are, we will pray for you till dawn of a new and vibrant morning. © RAKESH CHANDRA India