POEM TIME

                                                                                                            BY  ARYA A V

RECKLESS AND RASH

RACING WITH LIFE

Red and Blue monsters whisk pass carrying a rainbow of colors, cultures, professions, age groups atop the tarred and potholes. Not all are monsters, just a few. Some just an inevitable part of social life, while few turn the miserable roads into a racing ground. Either motivated by some stunts seen somewhere or may be just to be punctual or may be further, to get more passengers. Private buses in our state stand forefront in this typically racing mentality. Driving atop the pavements cum drain and inclining at around say seventy degree angle one wonders when and why that one wheel of the bus doesn’t land down into the drain. While some in the bus start chanting prayers, others cast a disgusting look at the driver or at the front mirror muttering curses.  Those on the road plead for their life scattering like gazelles in front of a lioness, rarely few stand like brave warriors saying hit me if you can, don’t bother I will be a martyr for a better situation. Swaying to and fro with the risk of either fracturing facial skeleton or hip, especially those in the front who are standing have a rather risky time in case of a sudden brake or say a catastrophe. The driver seems to be in another world, driving in a peculiar fashion so as to raze of the competing bus and its helpless victims. Those near the doors especially and rarely windows dread of being as a carcass in front of the vulture-like buses rushing ahead.  Then comes the conductor and his assistant who rings the bell before the two legs of a person step in. Suppose they expect everyone to share their similar skill of ringing the bell before the last passenger gets out-then run along with the bus before getting on to stand on the board where it is written on- Do not stand. Maybe we should wait till Metro comes in Kochi or may be officials who don’t take necessary action should be fined rather than those who own or drive them. Or maybe those who journey by road should…

                                                                              BY  ANN ANIL JOHN

FROM THE BOTTOM OF HEART

                        THE    REAL   ARCHITECTS

    

It was the time my mom smiled when

I cried………

It was the time my   dad taken a breath

When I started taking it…..

They carried me through the streets

They carried me around the world

When I had my first step, their eyes

Brought a tear…..

When I spoke the first word, their hands

Came towards me to hug……

They made me learn new words…..

They made me learn to explore……..

Its them, who were with me and are

With me …

To check whether I fall down

To get me up and to ask me

‘ are you okay ’

I realized the actual and beautiful architects

Of the world ………

‘’ my parents’’ ……….

                                                   BY ATHIRA ABHILASH

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY

 

BY  PANEKAT ABEL IVAN

WHO WILL BE THE NEXT