Open Sesame writer's garden

Open Sesame writer's garden

 

You must read this poem
                          

The Squirrel

                                                 With a rocketing rip
Squirrel will zip
Up a tree-bole
As if down a hole.
He jars to a stop
With tingling ears.
He has two gears:
Freeze and top.
Then up again, plucky
As a jockey
galloping a racehorse into space

                                                          By Ted Hughes

 

Lord of the Sky

Thou art a wonderful painter
The sky is thy coloured canvas
Thou hath useth brilliant hues
To colour our lives

In the morn, with the fiery Sin
Thou hath coloured the sky golden
It lightens as the noon approaches
And at dusk Thou hath used
The best of Thy hues

Of elegant purple, of delicate pink
Rosy red of the setting Sun
And a tinge of pale yellow to soothe
Our tension-filled lives

The sky has many clouds as well
Each with a silver lining for sure
These calm shapes decorate Thy blue sky
When there're storms Thou art angry
But when the storm and rains wither
We sight a beautiful rainbow
Filled with all the colours of Thy palette
To fill our lives iwth more cheer
As night sets in Thou start filling
The dark sky with luminous stars
The diamonds sparkle with glee
And our hearts fill with joy
To know that Thy art in Heaven
With Thy amazing colours of joy
And that all's well with Thy world!

Sindhu Srinath, 1st PUC,
St. Joseph's PU College,
Chitradurga.

 Wishing my Father
Happy Birthday

 

This present is for one who follows time management with
deadly precision and one who hits his targets with deadly
accuracy, just like a timed missile. When this missile comes in
contact with anything, it explodes to give out joy, happines,
surprises etc.


He is as fast as F16
and makes me understand that I am a teen.
He is explosive with joy and he likes me to be a boy.
He tells everything as detailed as poems of Keats and he controls himself and never beats.
He does not have a beard, but still gives us Bread.
His powerful brain,
works as fast as a train
and he eats only grain.
He showers joy like a rain
and thus lifts us up in life like a crane.
He keeps moving on like a wheel,
to give us meal
and never makes me kneel.
He is my preacher,
he is my teacher
and he is the most intelligent creature.
He is an Indian citizen
and certainly not wild as Tarzan.
He bursts with colours like a rocket
and he himself watches it with his hands in the pocket.
I sleep on his lap, with a cap


Suprajeet

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