Apprehended in the moonlit night,
Of the silhouette of a mystery,
The clenched fist hesitated to show might,
Stared at the wall hangings of tapestry.

Curiosity crept in and courage whispered to his ears, "Go Leonard, go."
His feet trembled, but bravery ruled his heart.
He reached for the lamp, as the fear, he forgo,
He walked, to find the cause of disconcert.

He stood, astonished, at the sight of a black cat.
It meowed, as slowly, it vanished behind the trees.
he heaved a sigh of relief, and laughed, at ease.
What was he so afraid of?-
The answer lay in the breeze.

She is a blush of the summits during the sunrise,
She is the ray of hope in the heart of the failure.
She is the light in the dark life of the jailer.

She is buried deep within the soul of an erring,
She is affable, she is daring.
She completes the incomplete, takes away the complete.

Her laugh, her smile, will take away your tears.
She will answer to thy holy prayers.
She will console, she will hurt,
She will shed away your discomfort.

She is the fragrance of the flowers,
She is the sparkle of the moonlit night.
She is the cause of contrite.
She is the tune of the upright.

She gives, she takes.
She will make mistakes.
She will rise, she will destroy.
She will rejoice, express joy.

She isn't weak or bleak,
Do not question her physique, she is unique.
She will disown, she will deceive.

It was only the beginning of the beginning
Of an uncommon, story book.
I read it, as I wasn't clueless about it's meaning.
Serena frowned as she gave it a look,
It's cover was simply, but unbearably shining.
I felt that there was a lot of time the writer took,
To write such a unique piece.

I read, but there was a lot more to those pages,
The emotions, memories of his ages.
Serena thinks that the book is an emotional melodrama,
She likes practical books with an emotional core,
Those of which deal with the lifestyle of Einstein to Obama.
I thought of the hidden jacket the book wore,
The writer had written something that he had wanted to,
But some vague parts raised questions,
How?- When?- Who?-
He certainly did not want to answer them,
But then why did he write his name?

My heart skipped a beat as I read about his sufferings,
The day his daughter had left him,
His life was certainly gloomy and dim.
I sobbed as I read about his mother's death.
The day he had once more called his daughter, "Dear Beth."
And how cruelly she had replied, asking who he was.
He, smiling, giving a sudden pause,
And gently, saying, "Forgive me, I thought it was her."
After reading this book, it helped me to discover,
The lonely, deeply buried inside me, a soul,
Who would have thrashed her daughter if she behaved such,
But, at the end of the day, would the anger be less or much?

The problem with coming to school is quite certain;
I get criticized, everywhere; everyday,
I bore the failure hat, as a burden,
They don't tell me which is the correct way.

They praise them, but why not me?
Even I know how to sing "A, B, C,"
I know how to love, I know how to please,
But why, why do they always tease?


I don't want bread, I don't want a penny,
I just want people who love me; many, many,
I am black, and you are white,
Are we different like day and night?
I want friends; I want praise,
I want happy, unending days.

The wind blew as though it would never take rest;
The bird flew and gave his best,
Amidst everything I felt lonely,
I thought of him; i missed him only.
Though not a human being, yet very human-like was he,
And undoubtedly, very dear to me.
He was a dog, as they say,
And now the pain will endure, oh: it may,
Now life will start once more,
As normal as it was before,
But will I always remember my faithful friend?
Oh yes, indeed, till the very end.

I wish I were the little girl,
Who tugged her mother's hand
For the delicious candy canes.
For it had the innocence,
The eternity to spend with her family,
All of which,
I lack.