Tuesday, 11 August 2009


I'm sorry for all the bad things I've done,
I'm sorry for taking away all the fun.
I'm sorry I've made you feel extremely hurt,
And used you just to have fun and to flirt.

Will even God pardon me if I continue this trend?
I better act swift and keep an end.
Everyone's imperfect, but I'm at its higher stage.
I should shut my mouth and stop calling myself a sage.

How can I change the nation?
When I myself am sick like a patient.
Yes, I should change.
Before this shoots up to an alarming range.

Sunday, 2 August 2009


The guy near the window spits on the road,
The one standing scribbles on the roof.
A cute, little boy is completely bored.
He talks with no one and stays aloof.

There is no smile in his face,
He's feeling forlorn,
He bends to tie his lace.
I find his shirt torn.

"Oh! little boy,
Who tore your shirt?"

"It is my sister Joy,
Who flung on me dirt."

"Why did she do that little boy?
Did ye make her angry?
Did ye break her toy?
So, what caused the fury?"

"I ruined her sand castle.
And I crushed the flowers she had.
I broke her new whistle
And made her feel bad.
She kicked me, punched me,
And pinched me hard.
She pulled my hair, tore my shirt,
And flung at me a ball of dirt."

"Oh boy, that's too bad.
Be a good kid, or mom will feel sad.
Joy is a good sister,
She loves you a lot,
Care for her young mister.
And fight with her not."

The boy flashed a smile.
He promised me he'd change.
The bus went a mile,
And I suddenly felt strange.

I realised that I could change the kid,
But never the stupid spitter
Or the senseless scribbler.