Anushka P

The Best Part of Me

I think the part I like most is my palm. My palm is open, yet it holds many secrets. It isn’t really something I can explain, or something other people can relate to, but some days, I’ll look at my palm and wonder where my life line really ends. My palm allows me to have intriguing thoughts pop into my head, like, “What do all those lines and crosses mean?” My palm is a thing I can relate to because I’m a curious person, and when I have something to think about, I’ll be thinking about it for a long time.

Read Every Story

I have read many stories,

At times I forget to stop,

I read about the king’s good knights,

And the bunny without a hop.

Countless tales of friend and foe,

Books piling by the ton,

I read a lot, sometimes too much,

But every single one?

I’ve read tales of courageous acts,

Chivalry, valor, and glory,

But now I’ve brought it upon myself,

To read every story.

Turn the Page

I open a book, I take a quick glance,

I read the whole page to myself,

Then I slam it shut, look at the book,

Then cram it back on the shelf.

Then my wise grandmother, with a deadly stare,

She walks, stroking her grays,

She places her wrinkly arm on my shoulder,

She looks at me and says:

“My dear, you are free like a bird,

Not a lion locked in a cage,

But you may be the lion,

For you never turn the page.”


The water moves gently,

As not to disrupt,

But lava spurts out,

As though to erupt.

But the water does ripple,

With as little as a touch,

But when you splash,

It sways too much.

Bearing the echo of lies,

Yet the cry of truth,

There is endless the water

Could teach to us youth.


The grasses are dancers,

Whether or not you know,

They sway in the direction,

The wind seems to blow.

They drop for the rain,

They sing for the sky,

They bow to every person

Walking by.

They clap for the sun,

They dance for the stars,

They cry for the moon,

Floating afar.

They bow to all,

Bald, or with glasses,

So we should thank

These beautiful grasses.

The Balloon Man

There was a man,

His clothes were torn,

He’s from the town

Of Scathelhorn.

He hops and jumps,

Oh, he certainly can,

He’s none other than

The Balloon Man.

He skips along,

While eating fondue,

He wears hats,

Not one, but two!

He comes to you,

He’ll toss you a card,

He’ll say, “Look at it, dear,

It’s really not hard.

I will guess your card,

And I will guess it right,

And if I can’t,

I won’t sleep for the night.”

I covered my card,

Made sure it’s protected,

He won’t guess it, I think,

But then I’m corrected.

“Three of Spades, is it not?”

He said with a smile,

“Now for your balloon,

You deserve one with style.”

“Balloons, what balloons?”

I said, looking daft.

“Be patient, dear one,”

He said with a laugh.

Then I went home,

My hands empty, balloon-free,

I opened my door,

And what did I see?

A big balloon,

Green to be precise,

And the funny thing was,

It looked rather nice.

The next day, I ran,

Green balloon in hand,

I ran to the leader

Of the band.

When I asked of the Balloon Man,

He broke down and cried,

“Go home, little girl,

For the Balloon Man has died.”

With a heavy heart, I went home,

I was sad for his plight,

Then I remembered the time

He guessed my card right.

Then I released my balloon,

It soared high into the sky,

As it rose higher and higher,

I waved goodbye.

“It will reach you,” I thought,

“I’m sure it can,

For now, rest in peace,

Great Balloon Man.”


Coffee is my central core,

So I go and buy it from the store.

Then I drink it up

From a Starbucks cup,

And then I go buy some more.


I hear the sea,

Loud and clear,

There is no end

To what I can hear.

Our sea endures

Pain, not glee,

It sees things

No one can see.

“I’ve been here

For many years,

Yet the salt

Still stings my tears.”

The sea’s cries

Hurt me, they do,

I can hear the sea,

Can you?


Rain is just God,

Stroking your head

To soothe you from

Your world of dread.

Sprinkling joy,

To cure your worse,

Rain is a blessing,

Not a curse.

The rain is wet,

Like tears of joy,

It’s a gift

For girls and boys.

An Ode to All Colors

Blue is like the happy skies,

The shade of blueberry tarts,

A blissful color, my cousin’s eyes,

The sadness in our hearts.

Yellow is like the smiling sun,

Rays glinting through,

Yellow’s happy, have some fun,

Watch it smile at you.

Red is angry, like the flames,

It never seems to aid,

It shoots at anyone it aims,

Bursting up, like a huge grenade.

Colors mean so many things,

Too many to fit on a page,

These colors have a wonderful ring,

Accept them, no matter your age!

Blackout Poetry: Night Monsters

Night hid under the book,

Courage from my head acted out narration,

Amazed monsters glare and snap!

Unique signs allowed views,

Not abominations, but creatures,

Like humans, terrorized.

Royal Blue Haiku

Royal blue is rich,

Dark, cool, pretty as the sky,

Genetically blue.