The Poetic Corner

Teacher The world considers thee to always take a test But I don't care of the rest For, I feel,o teacher... That you are like a pitcher  Yes indeed, a knowledge filled pitcher, Which has this one awesome feature! That thou is so skilled and learned And can turn a pile of clay That none can question in any way, In such a model; tried, tested and burned Which shines like gold, In any shop they go For they'll be bold Yet be polite and show The true meaning of knowledge For you, o pitcher! Hath moulded me in such a creature Which would have been anything But a useful thing, Without thee, o kind sage! Whom I call a teacher, Who hath this one awesome feature!                                                -Ananya Mallik

Flattery What is flattery? To turn others buttery, By drowning them with phrases, Dipped in praises.                                                                              What is flattery? To turn one jittery, By drowning them in words of abbreviation, Dipped in appreciation.                                                       What is flattery? To turn it fluttery, By making it swim in words of self reliance, Ultimately soaking it in arrogance.                                                                                                                                                                         -Ananya Mallik

Choice What is choice? Many ask,is it to listen to your voice? And choose your wish over the noise And to have life's joys, Or to listen to others, And have the life filled with bothers? Choices may be to wander- Or be a doctor very tender- Or rather have a simple life,  To either keep away or be with strife, Or to be a chef with a good knife- To chop the grief. Choices, in brief- Can be to be a chief Or to survey a flower or leaf As you wish, But make sure that there is enough bread and fish.                                                                                                  -Ananya Mallik

Secrets  The sands of time, Pleading to chime, The secrets of the slain- Trying to open up in vain, But the layers of lime Prevent the rhyme, From singing in the rain The secrets that are main. Bound in chain, Groaning in pain, Lie the secrets in grave, Of the unproved brain- Barely able to refrain Secrets which are at lane That crave For the desire of spilling the naive.                                                                    -Ananya Mallik