Dear Swami, you are 17 days old,
But you are not quiet as my mother had fortold.
When you wail, when you cry,
The roof touches the sky.
When you drink milk with a slurp,
Then let gas out with a burp.
A Toothless Devil looking so cute,
And pampered as a guest in a 5 star suite.
You are as adorable as a rabbit,
When you poop, Mom says dammit.
With my friends I show you off and boast,
We chuckle, laugh and take a toast.
(to my loving sister)
Banana socks,
There are no more in stock,
The name gave me a shock,
So I bumped into a rock.
Ketchup shoes,
I have no time to lose,
This thing gave me a bruise,
I hate my ketchup shoes.
Hot dog sun-hat,
Everybody likes that,
It looks good on my cat,
It takes it off on the mat.
Cheetos headband,
It fell on the sand,
It is very grand,
You can’t buy it
Do you understand?
When he sees me
He only sees the bad
Only sees the flaws
So I’ve come to believe
That’s all I am
I’m just flaws
According to him
There’s no good in me
Now it could be cuz
I like him
But maybe he’s right
Maybe I’m all bad
And no good
Yeah that’s the truth
A house is not a home
And a home is not a house
When I walk in someone’s home
And they say
‘This is my house!’
I wonder if they meant home
Or if they really meant house?
So just remember
A house is not a home
And a home is not a house
When I gave him a ticket
When all he did was stare
When he probably thought it was poison
When he realized what it was
He smiled
Said thank you
And went merrily
On his way
Poem writing is not that hard
Not to me at least
Poem writing’s very easy
If you know what you’re doing
For some it just comes naturally
For some it might be work
I can’t help it
But practice and
maybe
you’ll get as good
as me!
A day at school with your friends
Where learning seems to never end.
And the night before having a bath.
Doing English and reading but the worst of all, doing MATHS!
Break-time is a time when you chat
Then go to the gates to see someone walking their cat.
But then of course in the afternoon
You see if home-time will come soon.
But now its here, you’re finally free,
But then you see
The pile of homework that the teacher gives to me
The tiny and growing children
Are like round and narrow pencils.
Some are blunt
And are used.
The parents are the sharpeners,
Who sharpen their child’s future and decide their way.
The teachers are the erasers,
Who correct and teach them.
They can make a wrong word correct,
Or a correct word wrongly.
The siblings and friends are the scale,
Who make us go in a straight line.
What is important can become slant,
And a slant can become straight.
The paper is your life,
Where you write your script.
You can choose your way
And make your day.
One lone poppy sitting on a battlefield
Is thinking to itself,
Why in all the colours do I have to be red?
It resembles all the blood that has to be bled.
Why am I on a desolate battlefield?
Where all the fighting is to be dealed.
A last primal cry is all I hear,
As blood and death is always near.
A smouldering fire, a touch of heat,
A screaming cry, a sign of defeat.
The ‘Jerry’ will be there, dark and dim,
As the soldiers faces are always grim.
Why do I have to be on a grave
Where fighters die, scared but brave?
Why? Why does the fighting never end,
As the dark war was starting to mend?
As the poppies sway and bow,
I will make a simple vow,
No poppy big or small,
Will stand here not rising tall.
We are not silly flowers,
Because we have great powers.
One lone poppy sitting in a battlefield,
Is finally not alone…