Tejashree Sonawane

Sometimes I sit and I wonder How life would be If were a fictional character.
It would be so strange and scary To live in an uncanny unfamiliar world Which is so fraternally familiar.
I would meet my favourite characters Go on long walks By the river Pedra Have with them the endless talks And ask them the wildest questions.
We feel as if we have been spied –They would say Someone killed the beloved’s lover –They would say.
I got scared I wanted to run Run away from this filthy place Which is a fairyland Under the pixie dust of books.
No, the pixie dust was cleared The clouds of anger prevailed Over the magnanimous sun The only thing that was left Was my own self.
I lost hope I wanted to leave Leave this place Leave this life.
Until this one night When the sun arose Hounding the dark clouds Welcoming the rainbow.
I wondered what had happened Then I realised –it was her! She had opened the book! She read the book And I read her face She closed the book
And I missed her gaze.
But she would always come back I could hear her laughter I would catch her tears We held hands when she touched the book
We kissed when she sniffed the pages. And everything was going well. One day, the clouds returned And the sun sank I knew that she would come back I even made the pages sunflower I sprinkled pixie dust in the air I screamed and screamed Wishing she would her me But she never came back And I – I waited, I waited.

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My Title Suffers incompleteness

Padmaja Vikas Chavan
12 – B

My title suffers incompleteness
An Overbearing pride is evidenced:
An evidence of notability:
An evidence of inferiority –
On a brumous October morning
The trees appeared  like hazy shapes
And that the landscape – a blurred outline
-Of the happenings
A force now desolates everything in my path
The eyes made an unspoken conversation
But forgot to involve a self-confession
And that it beats inside this labile mortal thing
And that there seems,
No scope in emulating
Against unequalled theorization.
And they make an overstatement
And fail to imitate their politeness
And now they stand,
Against a histrionic despair
Unaware of his herald of approach
Always foreshadowing my intentions:
Declamation with an expression of strong vehemence
And deception by creation
Of visually appealing ideas
And that the hatred –
To the naive observers
Appears a conjuration
And that I become weak by mind
And a retard by heart
He received by retention
And forgot with a less assimilation
Propelled by self egocentrism
And I in pursuit of morality
And lost in a sense of self-altruism
The error of ours that glares in the dark
And I see a flagrant violation of my intentions
And that this amplification
Elaborated and intricated the false beliefs of mine
Marked by a complex understanding of small  things
And a need of re-refinement of old beliefs and hopes
Each time we concealed out guilt

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