Allsorts

Glowing, shining,
Like it is smiling,
Screw it in,
Flick the switch,
On it comes,
So quick!

The world feels grey
When all is lost
Still, hope is determined.
It takes a paintbrush
And allows you to
See the world
In a different light.
It colors the trees
The orchards and gardens
It colors the sky
The birds and clouds
It colors the forests
The animals and insects
It allows you to start again
On a blank canvas

Sikim, Sikim where are you?
Are you in the kitchen
or in the bathroom?
Are you sad or happy?
Ah…he is sleeping.

The hill had a brown head.
Green grass gave him
Green hair. The hill
Was a beautiful place.
He had butterflies and

Flowers that smelt as
Good as perfume
Manufactured in Italy.
Soon, it was thought
To be an ideal place for houses.
First, one house came, then

Another and then yet
Another. Today, the
Hill is covered with houses
Stacked one above the other.
Slanting roads run through.

The place is as lively as
A neighbourhood in Brazil.
The hill may have lost all
His hair, but today he provides
Shelter to as many people as the
Number of strands of hair
That he had.

In the rainforest there are amazing creatures…

You’ve already sent me this, Mohammed. Scroll back and you’ll find it.

Tick tock
I can hear a clock
Numbers all around
Meaning different times
Tell the time on a clock
Seconds
Minutes
Hours
The lot!
O’clock
Half past
Quarter past
Quarter to
We have time to make sure you
Never end up late
Never are too early
Never sleep in
Or get up early
Tick tock
I can hear a clock
Twenty to
Twenty past
Ten to
Ten past
Tick tock tick tock

Very red lava
Odd fire sparking up
Lines of lava crackling
Crashing rocks
Ash popping
Never go inside
Okay! Don’t touch lava

The metal fence on the side
Of the road is of iron. It is
A superhero, it saves cars from

Falling down the hill from the
Highway that has been built.
They get exposed to the sun
And are covered in dust.
They stand here all the while,

Making sure that all the
Cars passing through the
Highway go through safely.

At the centre of the city,
There are four buildings that rise.
They stare at you with eyes
As sharp as the ones of a detective
While you stand on the cemented

Street below that was formed
By the meeting of
Four roads between the buildings.
You can see only a small part of the
Street for the other part is

Covered by these buildings.
It is the olden part
Of town. Whenever I want
A glimpse of our culture,
I come back here and get it.

Your poem didn’t appear, Tisharn. Maybe you used emojis?
They cancel out all the other words. Try again.