My Want

(People... don't curse me. This was my first poem written in 7th standard. Here it goes!)

The only want in my heart,
Is not just of chocolate tart.

Neither of a game of darts,

Nor of a race with a head start!

Oh! How I wish for a gift,

That could give me a lift.

A wonderful book of magic tricks,

Which no dog could ever lick!

But the real want of mine,

Is just a simple, box of dime!

Which I could spend on holidays,

On rides and fun to suit my ways!

Excerpt

" We cling with both arms to false hope, refusing to believe the weightiest proofs against it, embracing it with all our strengh. In the end it escapes, ripping our veins and draining our heart's blood; until, regaining consciousness, we rush to fall into snares of delusion all over again. "

Taken from "The Postmaster" by Rabindranath Tagore.

Contemplations

We called him a retard, but did we bother about what would happen to him in future?

We called him a mugpot, but did we ever praise him for his good memory?

We called him four-eyes, but did we ever feel sad that his eyes were weak?

We called him a sadist, but did we ever think about the memories that might’ve made him like that?

We called him insane, but did we ever stop and think what we were doing ourselves?

We called him selfish, but did we ever bother to help others?

We called him a fool, but did we explain to him where he went wrong?