Unicorns are Real!

  In a bustling big city, there lived a small bird, Exquisite, rosy, but with eyes filled with the sorrows of the world. He feared this world unkind, Scared of us, the cruel mankind.   You see, the bird had witnessed that before, Many of its friends were captured, free no more, The little bird’s heart and soul belonged in the sky, And the thought of a cage made it cry.   It dreamt to touch the stars one day, But would it have the courage to fight? One day, the cruel men came, Trapping the bird, ignoring its pain.   The poor bird was now in a cage, Its eyes filled with tears and rage, Heartbroken, lost in this world unfair, A victim of humans who didn’t care.   This bird isn’t the only one,   there are many such in this world. How would we feel if trapped behind the doors? Caging for our pleasure—are we nothing more? -          ANAYA SHETH

  Crisp golden leaves touch the ground For the very first time Experiencing the moist soil and soft grass All year long, they have clung To their mother’s embrace   Now they stand independent Having bloomed in beauty through the passage of time And now it’s time to wither Even though they still feel like young ones They’ve made their mother look gorgeous   Always Now it’s time to leave her But what’s a tree without her leaves? Lonely. Like a writer without words A chef without food Like themselves It’s a season of change Nothing stays the same forever They’ve witnessed beauty, despair Is that all life has to offer? They wonder No, there’s much more And then there’s death.                                            ...

  ‘’Here you go!’’ my mother cried triumphantly. She had bought me a new pink frilly gown the day before at the ‘Clothes Galore!’ shop. I looked a fool in it. ‘’Go, show Daddy,’’ Mum coaxed. I stamped out of the room and climbed up the stairs to Daddy’s office. The help’s daughter was sweeping the floor, her bushy hair covering her face like a veil as she worked. She heard my footsteps and looked up. She noticed my horrible gown. Silent and invisible tears filled up her eyes. I looked away sharpish and ran away. When I reached far enough, I stopped to catch my breath. I had seen the faint look of injustice and anguish in her seemingly blank and feelingless eyes. After seeing that look, I had one question, or was it a thousand questions? WHY? Why were some people just born poor and not given an opportunity to showcase their talent merely for the fact that their fathers and mothers and grandfathers and grandmothers and so on didn’t have enough? Why couldn’t illiterate people, after...

  Once a fox, so tall and proud, strutted by a tree Seeing big plump grapes dangling, he exclaimed’ Oh dear me!’ He jumped up high Just of the grapes shy He grumbled and tried again No height he did gain No such luck, I’m afraid ‘Oh why?’ he said ‘Those nasty troublesome grapes!’ ‘Never mind, I can’t waste my time giving them my gape They are probably sour anyway’ He stalked off, having had his say So my friends, you now realize Being not of enough size The fox went away grumpily Even though the juicy grapes were hanging on the tree What we can’t have or do We make excuses that aren’t true We believe we are invincible and the best But sometimes we fail when put to test So people, it’s time to let go of your ego The seeds of humbleness in your mind you must sow. -          ANAYA SHETH

  A ghost in silver armour, Hiding from the world, Moving stealthily across the walls, Looking for people to lure.   He creates worries and tension, Who could he be? A shadow of darkness and despair, Invisible yet never free.   Amidst the calm blue sea, Lurks this cunning shark. Silent, waiting to devour, Dragging you into the dark.   Escape from the prison of anxiety, Let joy takes its place. Defy this ghost, don’t let him stay, Take your power back and rise with grace.     -          Anaya Sheth

 Disclaimer:  This poem is purely fictional and it does not , in any way, reflect our parenting style. 😂😂 It’s hard to put thoughts on paper. Nobody understands that. But then They get a good ragging from their teacher About a bad piece of writing. Or a horribly written passage on ‘Punctuality’. Which is so boring, by the way. My parents always say ‘Do your homework and then go out to play’. They are the worst. ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’ Some wise scholar said. What if he wasn’t actually a wise scholar? But A boy suffering. A boy named Jack. Whose parents were just like mine. Why can’t they just understand? That writing, for me, is a snooze fest. Just imagine Roald Dahl. One of the most decorated authors. Yet He struggled in school.   His teachers. They called him a ‘Camel in his English’. Don’t teachers and parents get it? Football is just as important as Maths. Cricket as English. And Tennis a...