Category: Original Poetry
Pathway to Success
Pathway to Success
By: Sreya Palnati
I remember that day perfectly,
Tears running down my face.
Dead cold stares on me,
A shattered grey vase.
Impossible, you say,
This dream of mine I’m dreaming.
But I’ve got lots of hope,
I’ve done some persevering.
Some days being fun with happy rainbows,
Other days filled with sadness.
I didn’t what was going on,
Or how do deal with this madness.
One day you told me about a song,
How it might help.
But then you never let me hear it,
Letting me feel the feelings I felt.
Soon I find out about a poem,
That shows me the pathway,
A very important one indeed.
Now I see everything in color instead of only grey.
We’re grown up now,
We know a little more too.
You know I’m living the life
That you’ve always wanted to.
Backpack
Backpack
Backpack,
you hurt my shoulders,
and my back,
also my arms,
what would I do without you.
Backpack,
you carry all my books,
binders, and lunchboxes,
sometimes even my shoes,
what would I do without you.
Backpack,
you make me late to school,
trying to cram things into you,
you tear and rip,
what would I do without you.
Backpack,
you can make my life miserable,
but also gleeful,
what would I do,
without you.
Backpack,
you hurt my shoulders,
and my back,
also my arms,
what would I do without you.
Keshav Bhakta
Block-4
Hope in the Dark
Hope in the Dark
This nightmare that we live in,
What a terror it is.
Not knowing what’s fake and what’s real,
But knowing we will survive this.
Darkness is everywhere,
Surrounding us like a cloud covered sky.
Coming out of nowhere,
With a blink of an eye.
The darkness is pulling us in,
With memories that are scattered.
Never good enough,
And all our hearts are torn and tattered.
But say what you will,
This life is supreme.
Keep walking towards your goal,
And someday you’ll wake up from this dream.
Tick Tock
Tick Tock
Tick tock, went the clock,
Twelve people alive,
One the source of it all,
But only eleven shall die.
Tick tock, went the clock,
One dying each hour,
When the clock strikes one,
The man with the black hair tied back shall die,
A man of providing.
Tick tock, went the clock,
One dying each hour,
When the clock strikes two,
The man with the white scarf shall die,
A man most feared.
Tick tock, went the clock,
One dying each hour,
When the clock strikes three,
The man with the rose shall die,
A man wanting to be loved.
Tick tock, went the clock,
One dying each hour,
When the clock strikes four,
The man with red eyes shall die,
A man who was once lost.
Tick tock, went the clock,
One dying each hour,
When the clock strikes five,
The man with the black cross shall die,
A man who was a commander.
Tick tock, went the clock,
One dying each hour,
When the clock strikes six,
The man with the wise mind shall die,
A man who was an elder.
Tick tock, went the clock,
One dying each hour,
When the clock strikes seven,
The man with the sorcery shall die,
A man who was the father of all.
Tick tock, went the clock,
One dying each hour,
When the clock strikes eight,
The man who wears glasses shall die,
A man who was a hero.
Tick tock, went the clock,
One dying each hour,
When the clock strikes nine,
The man with the polar bear shall die,
A man who wasn’t noticed.
Tick tock, went the clock,
One dying each hour,
When the clock strikes ten,
The man who was generous shall die,
A man who was poor.
Tick tock, went the clock,
One dying each hour,
When the clock strikes eleven,
The man who was always angry shall die,
A man who was a brother.
Tick tock, went the clock,
All eleven are dead,
But when the clock stroke twelve,
The twelfth with the curl was weeping,
And wished the eleven didn’t protect him,
A man who wanted to protect.
The Cycles of the Seasons
The Cycles of the Seasons
Winter’s snow brings cold
Raging blizzards, storms of hailing ice
And yet beautiful.
Spring is a rebirth
From the barren and icy grounds
Of the long gone winter.
Summer introduces us
To the feelings of freedom
And joys of old friends.
Autumn is subtle
Changing slowly, unnoticed
Until winter storms forth.
My Sun, My Love
Her warmth brushes me
And she would die every night
Because she loves me
The Final Stand
Read the poem while playing the video.
We are the last hope.
We are the chance that the world has.
This item, this sword, this energy, this responsibility,
that lies within my hands,
Can either destroy this place that we call home,
or bring it back from these ashes.
As the skeletal warriors enter,
With the king of the evilness watches from above,
With the king of the evilness watches from above,
I wield the sword high at my head.
If I am expected to save the last hope of humanity, I shall fight.
I shall not stop doing so until everyone of these vile beings has been destroyed.
The battle goes on for days and nights.
Weeks and years.
Years and decades.
The hunger intensifying,
The fatigue excruciating,
The cuts bleeding,
as the army of one thousand ,
the army of one million,
the army of one billion,
fights the lone warrior.
With the acidic rain pouring on my head
With withered trees shriveled up along the ground,
with the toxic air within the sky,
I see hope.
I see hope of a better land.
I see hope of a peaceful land.
I see hope of success.
So after each fall,
each strike,
each hit,
I grip this sword tighter,
I hold my head higher,
and continue to fight
The fallen have seen me,
and the gods have praised me.
I will join the clan of the pure-bloods.
The people of the elements,
the only people to have lived to their fullest,
and the only people to have mastered their mind.
I will liberate this land.
I will liberate this country.
And I will liberate this earth.
With each of these thoughts,
The glow the sword increases,
and the pain inside me fades.
I feel forces within me.
I feel spirits rising through.
I feel the weight of my legs disappear,
As the last of the skeletal warriors fall to the sword in my hand,
And the king flees in shock fearing what will happen next.
I fall to my hand and knees,
crying,
then weeping.
The joy I had encountered was relief.
And around me, the first trees and rivers started flowing.
And the new world begins.
And as the leader of the pure bloods reaches for my hand,
I grab it,
As we begin a new life,
of new beginnings,
and more hope.
Stages of Winter
Stages of Winter
Snow drops to the ground.
Going sledding down a hill.
Watching snowmen melt.
A Friend’s Suicide
One of my dads’ employees took his life on February 14, 2013. I wrote this poem in honor of him. Rest in peace.
A Friend’s Suicide
Ring,
Dads voice,
“J took his life,”
Disbelief, sorrow, pain.
My body shaking,
Voice trembling,
As I listened to the horror,
Darkness.
Friendliest guy ever,
Polite, sensitive, a gentleman,
Always had smile on his face,
A true gem lost forever.
Why?
Seemed so happy,
Full of energy,
Overflowing with life.
Fashion-conscious,
Always looked put together,
Had no idea,
He felt so alone,
Isolated, empty, sad,
Is this what he felt?
How had I missed the signs?
Perhaps I could have helped.
Grief, tears, guilt,
Wish he would have known,
How truly friends did care,
If only…
Life is fragile,
Offer a smile,
Take a hand,
Embrace everyone.