AIDS By Muneer Subair

AIDS!

Its sweet to hear,

But sour to taste;

its a major killer
It kills adults and kids
Kids like me and you

What is there to celebrate?
That people have aids?
I just don’t understand this holiday,
We call “World Aids Day”

This day can’t possibly be for celebrating
Because aids is not something you celebrate
If it’s for supporting and making victims feel better
Then it should be all year round and not just one day in December
Then I ask again, why is there only one day,
For this killer known as aids?

My heart is paining me
when I see AIDS patient
My eyes are hurting me
when I see them suffering
Is AIDS God’s punishment for
the people who went against nature love?
God has created a man and a woman
and he said a man for a woman
God has shown us the beauty of love
and he has taught us the meaning of the love
He wants us to be faithful to our love
Today, the world turned in to dark
The value of the love has been lost
The value of the faith has been lost
This misuse of nature love
angrily spreading AIDS everywhere
Our innocent children are living
in the world of AIDS

Let us fight against this deadly virus AIDS
and save our children and our nation

Mere condoms aren’t the key to AIDS control!
Nor abstinence, a practicable way;
Our sexual excesses have played a role
In making AIDS, the menace of today!

By
MUNEER SUBAIR
X1-A
SHIFT -2

Leisure by William Henry Davies

Leisure

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

MY SON’S TEACHER by Kamala Das

MY SON’S TEACHER

by

Kamala Suriyya (Kamala Das, Madhavikkutty)

My son is four. His teacher swooned on a grey pavement
Five miles from here and died. From where she lay, her new skirt
Flapped and fluttered, a green flag, half-mast, to proclaim death’s
Minor triumphs. The wind was strong, the poor men carried
Pink elephant-gods to the sea that day. They moved in
Long gaudy processions, they clapped cymbals, they beat drums
And they sang aloud, she who lay in a faint was drowned
in their song. The evening paper carried the news. He
Bathed, drank milk, wrote two crooked lines of Ds and waited.
But the dead rang no doorbell. He is only four.
For many years he will not be told that tragedy
Flew over him one afternoon, an old sad bird, and
Gently touched his shoulder with its wing.