I twiddle my finger
Into the loops of my hair
Cautiously stepping
Into the realm of ecstasy
Waiting for shimmering
Stardust to carry me away
I sink my teeth into
The fragrance of dreams
Aahhh! Beyond mere phrase
My eyes slowly drooping down
Filling itself with peace
Driving out the melancholy
And seeing out every drop of tears
Not thankful for their presence
Inviting a shine with pomp and welcome
Filling warmth
And crimson in the cheek
Relishing every drop of reverie
Still rowing me deep
Into a mystical ocean
Of pleasure, confined
Into the rusty corner of my brain

Dirt smeared on her slender cheek
Little streaks of bruises on her knee
Below the hem of her tattered skirt
Her tiny and patched flip flops
Are wearing out by little hops
Her large laughing honey drop eyes
playing below her tousled brown curls
As she intertwines her subtle fingers
In the cement dabbed gravel all alone
Humming out contentedly and giggling to herself
Enchanting the nature itself by these winsome deeds
As she digs and finds an aesthetic joy
In the “engaging” mud
As precious as the unveiled pot of gold
Tucked under the exquisite earth
Her naive heart brims up with heavenly pleasure
Just by the mere splatter of the marsh
As she is a gullible little busybody
Now and then her beady eyes
Are in search of the warm and open arms
Of her mother who would toss her into the air
making her feel like even if the sky
Fails to catch her
Her mommy definitely would
And as the dazzling fireball in the sky
Sinks deep behind the mountains
She sits on the cool rocks
Puffing forth her chest
Still waiting for her mother to return
With a longing heart, a teary eye, and pouted lips
Not knowing that every movement of hers
Is drawing up charm and grace
Triggering a poet’s heart



As always, he was
Rusty and cold as the dead winter
He snapped and uttered flakes frost
Heartless and stiff, a loser
Soul dried up like a log in the woods
Left out to his fate
Where the ice of arrogance
Muffled his smile
Which shade of his deeds
Like the spine-chilling wind puffs
He would have remained snarly
If not for that one ray
Of warm sunshine called hope
That watered his root of benevolence
Sprouted his happiness
Also bore the sweetest fruit of success
Which radiantly flowered out of his hard work
Smelling beyond phrase
He who was once the winter
Showcased the spring in him.
~By Likhitha, Class XII – Indian School Nizwa, Muscat


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