On a walk, I saw a little girl riding a cycle....When I was her age....
By Emily Brontë
Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree --
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most contantly?
The wild-rose briar is sweet in the spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who wil call the wild-briar fair?
Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He may still leave thy garland green.
By Esha Bakht
Beauty lies in everything,
Whether it’s the dew on a flower’s wing,
Or cherished memories we choose to make,
In moments that time cannot take.
Whether it’s the sunset in the eve,
Or one’s faith and what they believe,
Whether it’s rain pouring on a cloudy day,
Or the charm of a scenic, winding way.
Whether it’s the smile on a joyful face,
Or the unity and equality of every race,
Beauty is found in all we see,
A reminder of life’s endless poetry.
By Usman Khan
Life is a barren field,
Sown with thorns that refuse to yield.
The world we inhabit, vast yet grim,
Echoes with sighs and sorrows dim.
Storms may rage, fierce and wild,
Bringing grief, trials, and hardships compiled.
Yet, we must stand firm and tall,
Like a tree that weathers it all.
Some may falter, casting their arms,
While others persist through the harm.
Like a bird crafting its humble nest,
In ruins, it finds a place to rest.
By Rumaissa Chouhan
On a walk, I saw a little girl riding a cycle.
When I was her age...
I heard myself mumbled,
Realising in the subconscious,
Where did all the time go?
Wasn’t I just a little girl too,
A few days back?
A few days - or several years?
Wait...have I lost count
Or did I just stop counting?
In any case...
I was sure of one thing:
I was afraid of time’s relentless pace.
I wanted to hide from reality
When I catch a glimpse of myself
In the mirror, I feel as if...
Time has flown away.
These eyes have seen springs and winters
But do they still see them?
They seem like illusions now.
All those memories feel like
A distant illusion -
Which cannot, can never be revived again
But does this realisation make me sad?
Am I questioning their existence?
No... never
Because they are the ones that shaped
That little girl’s days and nights.
When I close my eyes, I become her.
I am still her, at least to me.
Even though the world can’t see her
She will always be here.
I am now what that girl wanted me to be
A woman.
