Notebook

Growing Up In the quiet of the night i rethink My existence in this world  The older i grow  The value of life drops low. Young me was so excited to grow. To grow, To enter a new world The world of grownups  As the older i got  more things i would be , more things I would do Inch by inch  Taller i grew Inch by inch  excitement dropped Is this all growing up is after all ? There is nothing to "growing up" Rather than getting to do  Restrictions add up Don't do this Don't do that  The world becomes a scarier place A place where the cunning are rewarded In the face of success Where friends are discarded A place where hatred prevails  And sceptics dissect happiness. This is a world I grew up into A broken place : my diy project Tape up the cracks; cover it up Was it worth it ? Growing up?

This poem, 'On the Day Before Exams' was so titled not only because of the contents of the poem, but also because it was written literally on the day before my Finals. After days of intense cramming my brain had had enough and was rebelling. Stubbornly, I sat in front of my book (guide) hoping to take in something. But Nope, Zilp, Nada. Nothing. So I picked up my phone (and later a notebook) to write this masterpiece. *Clap*Clap* Let's witness this greatness. On the day before exams On the day before exams, I find There are a lot of things to do. Lot of things to prepare. There are alarms to be set 4, 4.30, 5, 5.30 All kinds of sounds to choose from Blooming morning, tinkling, dripping And on the day of exams Snooze.. snooze... dismiss. There are notes to be found. Copies, papers, slides List of topics to be made Lectures, syllabus, past questions And on the day of exams Fasttrack guides Ah! the file should be completed H&E sharpen , H&E breaks Never endin...

An old man remembers. I remember writing this poem when I was in the 11th grade for my English class. It wasn't like an assignment or anything like that. The thing I remember most from 11th grade is English class on Mondays. 😁 Every Monday we would have a free class, where we could present our poems, writings or anything else. Our Teacher that year was a really fun loving man who had a great passion for creative writing. So I remember being very inspired by that passion and writing a lot of essays and poems that year. This tradition of our class started when I gave our teach a poem inspired by the recent lesson we had. I'd expected him to just have a look and maybe give me some critique on it but the next day he had me read it out loud in front of the class.😮 And thus began our Monday creative gathering tradition/ session. This poem is also one that I wrote for one of those Mondays. An Old Man Remembers An old man remembers when man and god walked together...

Whenever we go travelling, you can always observe rest stops where ever you go. The old village rest stops that are merely an umbrella shaped construction; older than myself might I add, always excludes a feeling of nostalgia. (nostalgia from other than the fact that these rest stops have become more of a hang out spot for grandmas' and granddads' alike.)    When ever my family and I are on a trip and we see a rest stop any where, " In the olden days..." starts the voice of my father. Throw back time!!  Any way let's hear it shall we: There is a bench, old and abandoned On the side of the road it stands All around it are overgrown weeds, herbs and trees In the middle of a jungle, a man-made thing. It is a contraption, for the lack of better word For rust has eaten away at the metal keeping it tall As for the wood, you can say its old Or just describe it as a termites home. It doesn't look worn, not old from use Just weather beate...

Let's get this started with a little poem I wrote on what "Young me"(I say as if I am centuries old) would fight till death to declare was the hottest day on the planet earth. Being a person who has lived in a relatively mild climate-ed (is that even a word?) place forever( I again say as if that's a long time) I can't stand heat.  Many people love the summer and to that I say," to each their own."  No summer has just never been my thing from excessive sweating, to ugly heat rashes, to frizzy, uncontrollable hair due to the humidity; it's safe to say summer (sigh) has never found a loving home in me. Honestly, if "young me" experienced the summers of today (phew); a melted human might have had to been dealt with.  Any who enjoy; if nothing else another's suffering due to a disgustingly warm day. Warm, warm it's so hot My ice-cream is melting down Tan darker than an espresso Popsicles a puddle on the ground Taking...