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Poems


My Best Friend

How long has the cry been coming

I really would like to know

The mewing has created a restless feeling

Within my heart, you know.

 

The walls of my heart feel pity for it

I feel there is a big pro…

But can't reach upto it 

'Cause it hid within the depth of the broken floor.

 

I tried and tried my level best

But failed each time I tried

The next best thing that I could think of 

Was calling for help from someone nearby.

 

I fixed a meeting with a guy and the prob…

And he managed to get it right

When finally out, I found it out

There was a spline on its side.

 

The power thing was crying for this

I now could understand

I quickly to it to the dock you see

And got the problem fixed.

 

Now she is fine and so am I

And so we both get along quite well

The two of us go out and in 

And now she is my best friend.

 

-         Hylton Upshon

-         26.05.2019

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Key To My Heart

 Knock Knock Knock

On my little door

It locked for time 

and awaits the knock

         

So knock now 

before it's too late 

for someone is there 

already at the gate

 

If you miss the golden chance 

and the door opens at a glance 

the treasures hidden inside 

will soon disappear

 

So be the first to knock 

are the first to cry 

for it is always known as 

first, come first try.

 

-         Hylton Upshon

-         18.02.2020

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INSIDE

Years and days went by ..

I knew not

Cos i was blind

Not from the eye

But from my mind

 

I only heard stories of sages.

I didn’t feel them

Even since steppin’ out of that

Little cute soul.

Being driven by “maturity”

All i did was lock myself in a cage.

Which i thought would make sense

While years went on as a waste.

 

The outside burned me from inside

While all it did was destroy me

I never felt all of this

Until.

The day i asked my inner self ..

“Am i leading life?”

“Or is life carrying me?”

The passiveness made it unfruitful.

 

I questioned gently that inward person.

The sights i saw gave me nothing

The ones i didn’t feel would have done more.

 

Change doesn’t come sudden. Does it?

I now valued myself like never before

Being none but myself.

 

The moonlight at 3 am.

Spoke more to me than anyone ever.

I now realized my filly

Which summed up to “PAIN”.

 

But it taught me well.

An inner world of pure magic

Where existed the elements of bliss

The soft smile in me.

With silent tears.

It was 3 am still

But to me, it felt

Like an eternity.

 

-         Hylton Upshon

-         01.12.2020

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Homework, I Love you

By kenn Nesbitt

 

Homework, I love you. I think that you’re great,

It’s wonderful fun when you keep me up late.

I think you’re the best when I’m totally stressed,

Preparing and cramming all night for a test.

 

Homework, I love you. What more I can say?

I love to do hundreds of problems each day.

You boggle my mind and you make me go blind,

But still I’m ecstatic that you were assigned.

Homework, I love you. I tell you it’s true.

There’s nothing more fun or exciting to do.

You’re never a chore, for it’s you I adore.

I wish that our teacher would hand you out more.

 

Homework, I love you. You thrill me inside.

I’m filled with emotions. I’m fit to be tied.

I cannot complain when you frazzle my brain.

Of course that’s because I’m completely insane.

 

 




The Land of Story-Books

By Robert Louis Stevenson

 

At evening when the lamp is lit,

Around the fire my parents sit;

They sit at home and talk and sing,

And do not play at anything.

 

Now, with my little gun, I crawl

All in the dark along the wall,

And follow round the forest track

Away behind the sofa back.

 

There, in the night, where none can spy,

All in my hunter's camp I lie,

And play at books that I have read

Till it is time to go to bed.

These are the hills, these are the woods,

These are my starry solitudes;

And there the river by whose brink

The roaring lions come to drink.

 

I see the others far away

As if in firelit camp they lay,

And I, like to an Indian scout,

Around their party prowled about.

 

So, when my nurse comes in for me,

Home I return across the sea,

And go to bed with backward looks

At my dear land of Story-books.



Meet My Family

 Ding! Dong!

Ravi opens the door.

It is Nisha,

He says, “Hello, Nisha.

Come, meet my family.”

 

“This is my father,

He is reading a book.”

 

“This is my mother,

She is painting a picture.”

 

“Grandpa and Grandma

Are playing with Toffee

Toffee is my cat.”

 

“Peek-a-booooooooo!”

Saya a little girl.

 

 She jumps out from

Behind a cartain.

“Aaa!” saya Nisha.

 

“Sorry, Nisha. This is

My little sister, Ria.

She is very naughty.”


  


Slow Fast Song

 Clap, clap, clap your hands

As slowly as you can.

Clap, clap, clap your hands

As quickly as you can.

 

Roll, roll, roll your hands

As slowly as you can

Roll, roll, roll your hands

As quickly as you can.

 

Wave, wave, wave  your hands

As slowly as you can

Wave, wave, wave  your hands

As quickly as you can.

 

Pat, pat, pat  your face

As slowly as you can

Pat, pat, pat  your face

As quickly as you can.

  


A Little Seed

 A little seed for me to sow

A little soil to make it grow

A little hole, a little pat,

A little wish, and that is that,

A little sun, a little shower.

A little while –

And then, a flower!



ASMA’S HOUSE

This is Asma’s house.

It is blue.

It has a garden

And a small gate.

 

This is Asma.

She is six years old.

Asma is playing in the garden.

 

There is a big gul mohar tree

In the garden.

Look at the beautiful

Red flowers!

An owl lives in a hole In the tree.

 

Here is Ali.

Ali is Asma’s little brother.

He is playing with a squirrel.

 

Ali gives a nut to the squirrel.

The squirrel eats the nut.

Then, it runs away.

 

Where is the squirrel?

“Look!” say Asma and Ali.

“It is up there, on the branch!”





Why should this a desert be?

 For it is unpeopled? No

Tongues I'll hang on every saying show.

Some, how brief the life of man

Runs his caring pilgrimage

That the stretching of a span

Buckles in his sun of age;

Some, of violated vows.

Twixt the souls of friend and friend;

But upon the fairest boughs,

or at every sentence end,

 

Will I ‘Rosalind! write:

Teaching all that read to know

The quintessence of every sprite

 

Heaven would in little show.


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