Almonds and walnuts, cholocate and ginger All share the colour that I am Woodchucks that chuck wood, baskets and bagels I am the colour of a beaver dam
I am the colour of the moose and the swaying camel The ruddy duck and the wolverine, Wood and toast, I am the colour of roast The garden snail and the centipede
I am the colour of the giant fin whale And of your sweet little sun-kissed face I may even be the colour of the desk on which All your favourite books are placed
I am the colour of well loved teddy bears Bearded dragons and kiwi birds I am all around, from beige to BROWN I am the beautiful colour of the earth
I am the colour of cherry blossoms And of the beautiful magnolia I’m like the onion, chopping which is no fun I’m also like the flesh of the guava
Himalayan salt and the Pygmy seahorse Are the colour of your little tongue Which is the same as the river dolphin I am also the colour of bubble gum
I am the color of lychees and the guppy fish Turnips and the galah cockatoo I am also the colour of some sea anemones They don’t have brains like me and you!
I’m the colour of ripe raspberries Of the lotus and the carnation I am the hints of health on your little face I am the delicate colour pink
It was just another day I was going to my cafe I got onto the escalator Inching me up on my north-easterly way
I turned around to the sound Of a straining, hassled parent As he looked at his little one His mildly stern gaze quite apparent
The boy looked away; he was not in the mood To be held back from his play The stairs running up all on their own! What fun to skip around on them all day!
I sensed his bright happy energy Even as his little hand was grasped In restraint; in gentle admonishment Grown-up impatience was writ quite large!
The agitatated parent caught my eye As I took in the scene from five stairs above I smiled; he smiled; something freed up And he looked back down at his little son
He picked him up and kissed his cheek Then up on his shoulders the little boy went The child gave a glorious whoop of joy As on the magical stairway he made his ascent.
I looked up, the special journey was ending I bade it farewell with a skip and a hop The child still grinning chortled with laughter It was just another sweet day out and about.
It’s Strange How some people call all the shots For you and me; on what’s right and what’s not On how we should all live our lives On what we should want to grow and to thrive And we follow them like so many mice The Pied Piper surely leaves us no choice
It’s Strange How some nations are on top of their game And others continually parry insults and blame Some swirl around in their blood, sweat and tears While others race on winds of good cheer And yet we stand by like so many sheep The First World Dream will not let us be
It’s Strange How the spirit of our humanity Has gone into permanent servitude For the battle of egos of the few Losing our grip on what’s right and true And we circle around like so many moths Burning our wings in the flames of their wrath
It’s Strange How hard it has become of late To step out of the comfort of the bell curve Created to kill off the being that’s you Teaching you how you must hate and love And we fight on like so many soldiers sore Thinking one more battle will win us the war
It’s Strange Even as I write these lines A question skips on the edge of my mind No, there are two for misery loves company Who’ll tell me the answers that I seek to find - When did the glow inside me cease to exist? When did Instinct and Courage let go of my wrists?
The Polaris or the North Star is part of Ursa Minor’s tail and is located above the North Pole. Sailors and other people traveling at night have long used Polaris to tell which way is north.
There was once a shiny patch Of seven little stars She was called the Ursa Minor You couldn’t see her from afar
One day Father Chaos Came whooshing on a gale He plucked away the littlest star In Ursa Minor’s tail
The Little Bear felt wonky And then her head, it drooped Ursa Major huffed and puffed Her baby did not look good!
Mother Cosmos felt the pain In Ursa Major’s sighs She floated out the window Of her castle in the sky
“What do we have here now Ursa Minor’s lost a star? Oh skies of blue, that just won’t do! Let’s see now - Here you are!”
With that she waved a kindly hand And opened up her fist And dropped a sheeny shiny star The brilliant Polaris
Ursa Minor looked at her tail As it shone near and far Many a traveller now finds her way In the twinkle of her North Star
Golden Repair or Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver or platinum.
There was once a china mug He was some twelve years old He’d done a very good job Holding drinks both hot and cold
Over the years the china mug Had seen his share of strain His rim was chipped in two places He had permanent tea stains
But he was quite a trooper He never lost his smile Even when the bright new mugs Would tease him all the while
One day the lady of the house Was wiping down the sink Her hand hit the china mug And down he went crashing
He lay in five odd pieces Across the kitchen floor The lady picked them all up And put them in a drawer
Ten days later the other mugs Saw a creature most divine! A pretty china mug laced With lovely golden lines
It’s me the old china mug! He said smiling at their stares I’ve just been mended gently With love and Golden Repair
And so it is with old things Friendships, mugs and toys With love and care, gentle repair They bring constant joy
Mahvash Mohtadullah 