Poems

 

The School Boy

By : William Blake

 

I love to rise in a summer morn
When the birds sing on every tree
The distant huntsman winds his horn
And the sky-lark sings with me
Oh! what sweet company !!

But to go to school in a summer morn,
Oh! it drives all joy away !!
Under a cruel eye outworn
The little ones spend the day
In sighing and dismay

Ah! then at times I drooping sit
And spend many an anxious hour
Nor in my book can I take delight
Nor sit in learnings bower
Worn thro' with the dreary shower

How can the bird that is born for joy
Sit in a cage and sing ?
How can a child when fears annoy
But droop his tender wing
And forget his youthful spring ?

 

 

Oh, father and mother, if buds are nipped
And blossoms blown away
And if the tender plants are stripped of their joy in the springing day
By sorrow and care's dismay

How shall the summer arise in joy
Or the summer fruits appear
Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy
Or bless the mellowing year
When the blasts of winter appear ?

 

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A School-day in Winter

By : M. K. Manandhar

Oh, the winter days are here again,

Oh, how courageous I need to be when,

I have to leave my cozy, warm bed

To get ready for another School Day ahead.

 

On my way to school after breakfast,

Chilling breeze knife cuts me past,

Shivering and rubbing palms,

Finding rays of sun to keep us warm

 

At School, greetings and smiles,

From teachers, friends and seniors, warms my heart

Their words, makes me fresh and fine,

And we start school, active and agile at nine

 

Interesting stories, famous poems, challenging maths,

Curious experiments, lessons on art, yoga, music and dance

Debates, speeches and of course, my favourite sports

All make us busy, till Home-time comes,

Happy, but tired after a long school day.

 

A short winter-day, with only a few minutes of play

Completing assignments before supper

Prayers to thank Him for a safe day

Tightly tugged in with my favourite novel

Until sleep-fairy carries me to fairyland

Till the dusk of another morning

To start my fresh Winter School Day !!

 

Soon my favourite Winter Vacation arrives,

Making lazy morning and arising late

No movements outsides till Sun’s warmth

Vitalizes all my human parts

 

Afternoon’s play and evening’s study

Eating lots of fruits to make body sturdy

Lot to finish work but only time is few

Nearing year-end and beginning new !

 

School days

School days are rich, full of memories.

A collection of emotions and melodrama,

Half our lives are spent within these walls 

Preparing for our near future.

Most memories are built in classes  

As we migrate from one to another,

Those buildings become our temporary homes  

These classes, our annual rooms.

These school days feel like a story or play  

Where teachers and students are its characters,

When teachers are not there in class 

It’s like you are home alone.

The jokes made in classes  

Are focused on people and teachers,

The talks and rumours around school  

Brings attention to gossips.

The gossiping of girls  

The fights between boys,

The paper fights inside the class  

As competitions between girls and boys.

Hiding in corners and eating junks 

Sucking toffees between lessons,

Passing on chits to your friends  

These become the golden memos of school days

 

Sudikshya Bhattarai

Grade 10

St Xavier’s School, Godavari

 

I’m no slave

Born to the streets, I belong to my master

I don’t know who my mother was, if I have a father

A slave I am they say, sold to the masters 

Never got love, all I knew was of anger 

 

Chains and hunger, pity no longer 

I had neither name, nor a family to call my own 

I had no food, nor a place to call home 

Hardship and pain never left me alone

 

Closed or open, all my eyes saw was darkness 

Neither dreams, nor any goal, 

It felt like I was inside a black hole 

My master, people talked highly of 

But, only I saw his edges rough 

 

He abused me like I was meant to be torn apart 

He beat me like a monster, no pity in his heart 

It was the same, day in and day out

Every day I wanted to leave, run away and shout

 

I hated him and everybody who ever owned me

They tortured and suffocated, told me I wouldn’t be free

Right until the day, I could take it no more 

When I realise my body had gone weak and sore

 

He had a dagger on the table and keys to my chains

It was my only chance of breaking free from all my pain

I grabbed the dagger and ran as fast as my limbs could take me

I ran until I thought my master’s guards couldn’t see

 

I was still running and then I stopped all of a sudden

The pain was excruciating, and my rags had blood on

I was shot in the back with an arrow 

I slumped in the sand, deep and shallow 

 

I lived the life of a slave, I wish to die free

Masters may change, but I don’t want to be back and see 

For I am no slave, my freedom is all I wanted

But look what it got me…I got hunted!

 

- Princila Budaprithi

Grade 9

St Xavier’s School, Godavari

 

My life at the Tea Shop

 By : M. K. Manandhar

 

 

“Wake up ! Wake up!!” I hear the Sahuni-didi’s voice

Though its only 5 and still pitch dark outside

Cool breeze enter through the holes of my torn quilt.

I lazily raise, cuz I know she will hurl a metal bucket

If she needs to call again.

 

With a large jerry can and a bucket

I hurry to the public water sprout nearby

Where younger kids like me

Already queue before me, shivering in thin vests

 

Finally I fill and climb up the slippery, wet stone steps

Balancing the containers, so as not to spill

And save me from getting bruised, if I slip

And also, didi makes be collect again

 

No matter how quickly I return

My didi complains of my being late,

And accuses of my talking with other boys

She neither likes nor treats me well, if she catches me talk

With boys of my age, let alone play and have fun

 

By the time I reach my shop, didi has gathered all

Large pots and pans, for me to scrub

With mud, sand and ash, but not a drop of liquid detergent

But the scrubbing make my body warm and my finger no more is numb

 

My didi gives me some tea and

Some pieces of potatoes, leftover from yesterday

I sometimes see some rat droppings,

That I remove it with a smile.

 

By six, crowds gather to enjoy didi’s sweet tea

And I have to keep pace cleaning the glasses

So no one needs to wait for their tea

Or else, I need to hear didi’s melody

 

By nine, I see kids in their colorful school uniforms

Playfully walking to their schools

With large bags that make me wonder what they carry

And how expensive their belonging are

 

A boy dropped his bag and spilled his books, notebooks, colour-pens

I wondered why kids needed so many different notebooks

I had only one where I used to do my ABCs and 123s.

The kid also spilled his lunch, but his parents forbade him to pick it up

I would have ate the clean part, and given the dirt-part to my dog

 

My didi is already looking for me to order to cook rice, dal and tarkari

So, lunch customers can have them by 10.

The wet firewood do not burn without much smoke

And tears fill by eyes, every time a gust of smoke I inhale

 

I watch the customers enjoy their lunch

Some talk to me as I give them additional rice, dal, tarkari and achaar

Most are kind-worded, but some are rude, and ill-treat me

Seeing my sorry state, some give me a small tip, and tell me to go to school

But I wonder how many of them ever think of my hardships

 

This is a life of an orphan, but I am grateful to didi

For taking me in, and giving me food and shelter

As for my work, we all have to work, for our bread

Happy I am, with a small gift

 

At night I sometimes gaze at the sky, where some stars twinkles

Some are bright large stars, but I don’t know why

Some stars makes some pattern by joining them,

I once made a shape of a big cauldron, which I clean every night

I enjoy seeking such shapes in the night sky,

But I usually like to sleep early whenever I can.