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Advanced in years, advanced in life
There slouches our grandmother in strife.
Winter has set in, no time to laugh
For our grandmother is knitting a scarf.

Behold the nature devoid Earth,
As the grandmother looks through the window.
Everyone step outdoors with a dust mask
For the air so polluted never was
And breathing shall cause dreadful malady.

Every time a man digs the soil
Only plastics found amid the great toil!
Drinking water has been rationalized
Only a liter for a huge family.
And as our granny knits the scarf
She gives up water with a guilty laugh.

Her grandson returns home with a thud
Covered with sand and drenched with mud
But no water to take bath
So he holds himself in wrath.

Grennary pictures he finds
Only in textbook binds.
Grandma is beware of all these
And takes her mind to the trees.
There is only one tree in India
That is the great Banyan tree
And it is among the 7 wonders of the world.

It hardly rains once a year
So everyone gets a holiday
To see in front the nature appear.
Grandma with agony and despair
Explains her children how beautiful
Earth was, when nature was there.

She wrote articles for magazines
Describing the birds chirping in peace
And the smell of the tranquil breeze.

Grandma catches sight of another incident:
Only one rose left in the Ooty rose garden
And before grandma could give a pardon
In Auction was it sold to the highest bidder!!!
Never a rose, was seen then.

But don't worry, we are not in that age now
And never we shall get that blow.
But our future will, the future generation will
Undergo all these torments calling us evil.

We now see children playing around the trees
We now see animals in deciduous forests
We now enjoy rain and greenery.
But we will be a nemesis for the future.
Let the future not see greenery in books
But in reality, in real life let them see brooks.
We humans seem to be selfish, for I define:
“Only after the last tree has fallen
Only after the last river has been poisoned
Only after the last fish has been caught
Only then will we realize that MONEY cannot be eaten.”
Perhaps our world has simply been hijacked
if man is to survive we need to act.
So, let's act and save our planet "EARTH"
I'm head starting the challenging life
12th grade decides my future strife.
Herein lies the mystery of tomorrow
Destiny of the mighty ship in my carefull row.

Not asking for incredible flourishing results
But delivering support for my stupendous work.
Not asking for imaginative unreachable marks
But holding my hands to provide the best of myself.
Not asking to pour elixir for hardwork devoid outcome
But strolling me through the gates of earnestness.
Not asking for your substitution in me
But to confront me with your intrepid grace.
Not asking for grade ten replica
But lending me the same earnest virtue.

Help me ignore the incompatible watchers,
To provide the least hope of comparing
Falling in despair in other's successful fruits.
But to help better and improvise my solitary results
And shelter me in your house of modesty.
No beneficial ranks but the submissive marks
that lends a hair to my cognitive efforts
To grant me light in the death of night.

Let me blossom as tranquily as the sunflower
Yet not vanish in the glory of jubliation
But gradually offer me petals
And extend the reliance day by day.
Mindful and heeding my compatible hardwork
Finally, let me conquer the glamorous colour
Of my utmost individuality.
Rehabilating the small hopes intro pristine reality
Aware of the hunger turning to lime light
To strike a chord for my year before.

Take me on your hands, float me through
legitimate mistakes, rip me apart in the wave
of unquenchable thirst and finally wrap me out as
a champion badge of jaded grade twelve.

Bless me God, provide eternal marvels
Bless me God, honour the righteous path
As the testimony of your judicious grace
Bless me God, I'm starting life (grade twelve)
Out there I found you as a gallant friend
But now here you lay numb and frigid
Leaving me, leaving the world torn apart.
The days when we played under the sun
and slept under the skies,
Those days when we hunted down
those boars in the wild,
Those days when we ran around
catching ladybirds in the grass,
The days when we basked under the sun
and laid in the lawn.

Where are those days, will they come again?
Now you lay in the death bed,
Speechless, motionless and still.
Yet I wonder if you can feel those jubilant days
Ever wishing them to come again along with you.
The times when we cried, laughed and hugged
Now they are gone, gone forever
Leaving me alone, hurting my sensitive feelings.
And I don't mourn your death, because you never left me
You are still in my heart, your soul is near me, crying over in pain.

When I see those rainbows and the bright sun,
When I watch the sky pouring down the rain,
When I catch sight of the blissful beach,
Yes, I would feel you in my heart,
And cry in bitterness of the elapsed days
And weep for you to come again
And pen a poem like this to see in retrospect
The silhouette of a remarkable era
There appears the morning sunlight
That awakens the tress, snapping the spotlight
Getting refreshed for yet another day.
The tress, they stand solemnly
Ruler straight, *****, towering the skies.
A ray of light springs up calmly
Waking up the slumberous woods.
And with that tiny stroke of light
Chirping birds, wandering insects
Breezes in to the limelight.

Yet, some other place dark as it is
Devoid of the ray of light.
The blooming flowers, the swirling waters
Are at a standstill, inactive and undisturbed.
As that  tiny stroke of light becomes gross,
The woods would dance with the wind
Lift up their voice with the bird
And bloom with the flowers.
Beyond recall, life becomes alive
At the cracking of the dawn.
All our heads high from entry,
It was all fantastic with poetry.
Something without distraction,
It was all enhanced by our attention.
We had fun and frolic, joy and pleasure,                                                            
That could be our leisure.
They made jokes,
That could touch our hearts too close.
They were our poets,
And we were all absolutely quiet.
It had something with school,
That could make us cool.
It said something about nature,
And not something about creatures.
They asked us to write a poem,
That could tell us about their poem.
“Their poem were a bouquet of flowers,
In which every flower had its own color.”
It was a treasure of poems,
And a mixture of grace;
It was their Read more →suggestion,
And it is my projection.
Nothing more to say,
All in its way.
Exams over, friends dissolved and school also told bye,
Holidays commence; time to wander and to fly.
The first day of holiday-I woke up like an early bird,
Mom preparing stuff for breakfast,
And dad busy with calls and hurrying fast.
I stare at my room window and take a glimpse
Of people rushing their cars past the traffic.
Seeing everyone in routine makes me terrific!
The birds chirping daily without any holidays
And the sweepers taking away the dust without any leavings.

The gardener has arrived, the maid had come
In almost each person’s home.
People terminated their morning walk
And grabbed the car.
I’m still at the window spotting tones of people departing out very busily-
The merchants and vendors shouting noisily.
All the work is turning on without distraction,
Everyone at their workplace in attention.

After some time, my neighborhood turns out to be calm
The tranquil and the ready floating breeze blow past my face.
This assures me that everyone left their houses
And reached their respective places.
I take my eyes off the window and sit-back.
No more to-do lists, no more writing the home works,
And timetables on the calendar looks.
No more wearing shoes at the sound of the school bus
No more books and things at mess.

I see the clock-it’s only eight
Same time yesterday I was in an exam fight.

Spotting everyone at their routine work-
I feel so much desolate and forlorn.
And yet at dusk I watch people returning home from their day’s work.
At twilight, I see the firmament fading into a thick sapphire loom
And ask myself-“What have I done today?”
The obvious answer is-“Watching people drive and return from work!”
I see the calendar-Two more months for school:
Two more months for my homely eyes to twinkle
Two more months to shut the windows
Two more months to mess my table
Till then, my homely eyes-weak and feeble
I just need to nurture and make them twinkle…
Happy days have turned sorrow
Broad roads have become narrow.
Peace fled its way to the desert sand
Great people have left their fortunes in the land.
They went to a place where there is more calmness
More happiness and more kindness.
They have left their people with sorrows and torments.
Life is a fabric mixture of feelings,
No worries, no sorrows is not a life.
The way we take them in our heart is life
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