Allsorts

I always wonder
Who makes the clouds
For it is a task
For delicate hands
It must require a lot of time
But no one except the creator of clouds would have
That much time
Sometimes it’s a fluffy sheep
Others it’s a smooth horse
Sometimes they have to fill
The clouds with water
To save the Villages
In which the most devotees of God live
From the droughts of the season of summer
The creator of clouds
I shall name
After my pottery teacher
Whose name is Chris
Chris shall make a cloud
Oh watch it go by
Off to save the village
Full of devotees
But midway it encounters a plane
Who bursts the whole cloud
Causing it to burst
All the water flowing down
Makes the village flood up
Now the Sun shall come
And evaporate the water
Causing another drought but
Do not worry as Chris is here

She and me
Is the example
I would take for friendship
Far out or close together
We stay with each other

We have magnetic power
That always has kept us together
One at the north and one at the south
But always we keep
Our hands together

We started together
Still keep together
But will never end together
Because the friendship
Will always remain joint forever

We are best friends
We are the people you would want to meet
We are the world to each other
And that’s why
We are “WE”!!!

I took the job of the Moon,
I have to shine in America for a day
And then Asia the next
I look pretty
Despite being almost as white as snow
Earth says there are twins of me
A few around Mars
And a lot around Saturn
Uranus has another 7
I rotate around Earth
Who rotates around the Sun
Earth calls me Thea
Because that was my asteroid name

If I could control the seasons
I would make it Autumn
Hope springs eternal
So I would make half autumn half spring
Winter and summer might also sneak in if I feel less exotic
Autumn’s euphoria is great
Spring is the season of fertility
Summer and winter are the classics
And a bit of a balance
Winter is infinitely cold
While in summer we sweat buckets

winter is cold
there is no snow in the sky
the squirrel gathers nuts
and wild geese fly
the fluffy red fox
has his fur to keep warm
the bear is sleeping
through the storm

In a land where gods and mortals tread,
A puppet’s heart, with strings of dread,
Born not of flesh, but crafted fine,
A creation, lost to the sands of time.

His eyes were bright, his purpose clear,
But hollow winds whispered near.
A vessel empty, a soul denied,
In shadows deep, he chose to hide.

Once promised light, now cast aside,
His fragile heart learned how to bide.
A tale of sorrow, anger sown,
He walked a path, yet all alone.

Beneath a mask of calm and grace,
Raged a storm he couldn’t face.
A wanderer in lands untold,
A heart once warm, now turned to cold.

But still he seeks, with burning quest,
A place to find eternal rest.
In every step, he carves his fate,
A puppet’s soul, to liberate.

And in the end, when truth is clear,
He’ll find the strength to quell his fear.
For though he’s made of wood and thread,
A human heart beats in his stead.

Flowers are red blue and purple
I think of flowers when I dance in harmony
with my dancing dress
Flowers are the best ~One two three four
and we will be there soon
I move, I cry and think about flowers.
Flowers are everywhere
It’s time to say goodbye to flowers
because now it is winter
Bye bye flowers .

I think I was five, when they told me about a unicorn –
I sat atop a waste-covered rock, drooping and forlorn,
With hollow pits of hunger piercing through my being,
I looked up at the sky – my only known ceiling.

They say that unicorns have magic on their wings,
Magic that can make clouds dance and sing!
However, for me, the clouds only weep –
Through piles of glass and stone, I slowly sweep

Conversations about magic leave me bewildered –
Somersaulting clouds! Singing unicorns! Leave me flustered,
As I set out to pick rags, and clean traffic-covered streets,
With anxiety and worry, I am suddenly replete.

In the evening, my mother cleans rich people’s railings –
She is sixty-seven now, old and ailing!
I try my best to make her life easy
Seeing her struggle and strive, makes me sick and queasy!

I wish I could get her the Badi Memsahab’s mop,
To the ground, no longer she will have to drop!
However, the money I make goes towards food
Towards clothes and shoes, no matter how crude.

Today, as I push through the plastic and steel
Through piles of vegetable peel, as slippery as a seal,
I come across a partly bent pink-coloured wiper,
As bright as a rainbow, as sharp as a sniper!

Filled with joy, I bend down and pick up the tool
Without realizing it, I have broken: The Ragpicker’s Rule,
Every object we find must be sent for recycling
Plastic becomes tires used for bicycling.

This evening, I decide to take the mop home
As the sun sets behind the temple’s golden dome,
My mother approaches the object with great trepidation,
Cradling it as thought it is her greatest aspiration

There are stars in her eyes, and joy between her fingers,
Between the wrinkles on her face, the glow of joy lingers,
This is magic! I realize! This is my unicorn
This essence of joy, my mother’s struggles are gone!

Lampy is so bright with his extreme light
He lights up the road, such a nice bright bright light
We use Lampy for cooking, reading and more!
You are welcome, says bright light Lampy
But what is that?
It’s a poem shadow
Light it up Lampy
Bye bye!

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Someone like you belongs in the zoo
Don’t worry I will be there
Just out of the cage
Laughing at you