By William Blake
By Nissim Ezekiel
Twenty two: time to go abroad.
First, the decision, then a friend
To pay the fare. Philosophy,
Poverty and Poetry, three
Companions shared my basement room.
The London seasons passed me by.
I lay in bed two years alone,
And then a Woman came to tell
My willing ears I was the Son
Of Man. I knew that I had failed
How to feel it home, was the point.
Some reading had been done, but what
Had I observed, except my own
Exasperation? All Hindus are
Like that, my father used to say,
The song of my experience sung,
I knew that all was yet to sing.
My ancestors, among the castes,
Were aliens crushing seed for bread
(The hooded bullock made his rounds).
I did not know that words betray
But let the poems come, and lost
That grip on things the worldly prize.
I would not suffer that again.
The Indian landscape sears my eyes.
I have become a part of it
To be observed by foreigners.
They say that I am singular,
Their letters overstate the case.
I was standing right behind the door in stark darkness and heard the faint call of “Here I come!”. I knew my hiding spot was perfect. Snuggled in between the door and the bookshelf, no one would find me. Even if they closed the door, the darkness hid my shape. I was practically invisible. I heard a slight creak, and I held my breath.
The lights flipped on.
Oh no! I didn’t think they would turn on the light. The door suddenly moved. “Found you!”
Liyona is an “average joe” kind of writer who likes to think about ordinary things and then write them down. Ever since she can remember, she has been rhyming words and creating lyric poems. During her college years, she took a more serious bent toward writing and started to post on her blog (The Life and Times of a Quirky Character.) Currently, she resides on the East Coast of the United States, just north of the country’s capital.
I was staring at my books listlessly in the noon,
as I thought of a story about a girl and the moon.
Once upon a time, there lived a young, enthusiastic girl,
who had charming eyes and lovely brown curls.
She was fond of the shape shifting celstial body
and would sing lullabies about its beauty daily.
At nights, she would wait near the wooden door,
hoping that one night it will land on the porch.
She imagined riding it to the chilly North Pole,
thinking about it somehow calmed her soul.
She would often address it as “My Dear Moon”
and for the humanity, she considered it to be a boon.
“Come down to the earth, come play with me,
come pay me a visit, come down to me”.
She watched it change its shape every night
and everytime she would be pleased with its sight.
A few years passed and the girl grew older
Her hopes for the Moon’s visit became fainter.
One night, when she wasn’t waiting anymore
She heard a soft knock on the wooden door.
The beloved Moon had come down to the earth,
to visit the girl who appreciated the reflector’s worth.
“Dear Moon?”, whispered the admirer doubtfully
as the beloved Moon stood on the porch silently.
As I watched the girl walk towards the door
Something started pulling me down on the floor,
As I fell towards the floor and kept falling continuously
I heard some footsteps and then a door creaked slowly
I continued falling down when someone shook my shoulder
“Oh dear! You’re sleeping again”, said my mother
“Dreaming and exploring, Mother”, I said to her,
as I thought about the fate of the Moon and its admirer.
Sheebah is a student of class XI whose hobby is to write poetry.
By Wani Hadii
Looking like pearl on flower petal top
Falls the rain drop by drop
Soothing and slow is the falling rain
Falling on mountains and on plain
On the greenery when it goes down
Plummeting and alluring seems the uptown
Dropping down on dusty thoroughfare
Removing its dust by making it clear
Loving to play in this slow falling rain
Lessening my pain and deadly strain
On this rainy day my sister made a boat
Keeping that on water and making it float
Jovial the sight when falling from the cloud
Thundering along to make it sound loud
Truly said that bundle of our sin
Prevents rain from falling in
Wani Hadii is a lover of poetry who likes to write on nature.
Instagram handle : @landofpoems13