By Hannah Baynham Gr. 11
Salute to the highest point in you
The ting of a sitar
The vivid array of colors
Sore on the eyes
The deep trap
Capturing even foreigners
I am yours
A product of you
Despite my white skin
Amongst your beauty
Lies your poverty
The desolate and dying
The smell of masala
Mixed in with the smell of dung
A hot cup of chai
Rice and dhal on a banana leaf
Sitting in a train
Watching you rush by
Your stability yet spontaneity
Salute to the highest point in you.
By Anna Sytina (written in Gr. 9)
The last patches of weary norms
Lurk in their fragile shelter,
Bestial panic chisels their stooping forms.
The gray heavy shreds above burst
And reveal the internal fire beyond.
The earth wails from ineffable thirst.
Tormenting silence tenses the still air.
The world suffocates in thick electric aura
And waits for the oppression to tear.
A lonely awkward drop cuts the mood,
The sky launches on the and earth
And the rain sinks its teeth into the wood.
I too, was thirsty for the elemental outbreak.
I walk the treetops of the world
And fill in the last piece of the mosaic.