Monday, 21 January 2013

p o ems

These are my poems for English. I'm posting them a little late but yeah.




 The Queen of Snow
The edge of her dress skims across the mountaintops
Light and airy as my mother’s song curling through the air
Sweet pink candy in the shopkeeper’s hand
Icy blue of my blueberry cone so cold and sweet
Angelic white blending in with polar bear’s head
Flickering purples view her kingdom gently, a soft radiance seeping from her form
She is there, there, always there.
Her snowy curtain resting against one shoulder, tips a dewy pink
Queen Aurora, the majestic beauty of our snowy wonderland.

Gorgeous and kind she is the elegant lady conferring with her acquaintances,
Gentle and all seeing she is like the satiny breath of the after storm perfume,
She observes with a soft gaze with nimble fingers playing her harp of the fox fur chimes.
Lady Borealis her subjects cry with glee, calls echoing across the kingdom.
But she also resembles my mother so poised, supportive and strong
Worry glitters in her eyes, a mist of tears cloud her eyes as a weary child falls at her feet,
Loving arms surrounding the body, protecting from the demons of the night.
She is the guardian, the snow lady, my mother, the queen of the lands she graces the skies with
The light guiding the way, setting dark mountaintops aglow
Aurora with her velvety hair and eyes so bright
Won’t you light the way tonight?
 


Whisper, whisper, whisper goes the river as I swing my feet in the air
The sun shines brightly but my mood an inky night
The cotton of my sweater is uncomfortable
The dark denim clinging to my skin is too rough
The mahogany of my mother’s hair jars my eyes
My temper sours with the lime green sweet on my tongue
Everything is wrong today.
My toes should not be treading damp strands of after storm grass; fingertips touching the end of a frayed sleeve
Legs holding a petite body upright in a gaping valley far from the butterfly gardens with familiar faces.
One arm wraps around my leg, clinging like a sloth to its tree
My eyes face down viewing the warm puppy cousin with his large eyes
A scowl meanders my lips, following the light pawsteps on the grass
A bark pierces the air, brown paws scampering away; a shout as my feet pound after;
a pad points to a fluttering wing the wind, oranges and pinks meshing into a beautiful sea of colours.
The warm brown of my baby cousin’s eyes outlining the two skittering legs
She flutters gently in the air at the canine’s bark, waving to and fro to the sunlight
And then she goes, carried by the wind’s nurturing arms
Warm orange merging with soft pinks, beauty melding with grace.
My eyes follow the shifting colors in the wind
I see a beautiful green valley soft flowers singing in the breeze,
I see a soaring azure sky, a cluster of iridescent sapphires
I see weeping willow trees crying tears of mingled joy and sadness
The colours sharpening and brightening
She flutters away, the faerie of enlightenment
Bringing revelations to the ones in the dark.

I Am From

I am from red clay pots sitting along hard grey roads,
warm sunshine and heavy raindrops tapping tills
lone animals treading quietly,  the swish of cattle’s tails mingling with the cries of the market.
Fiery dragons breathing columns of fire,
jaded pedants bearing rabbit pads.
Of crystal flutes chiming along to the deep rumble of the Tabla.

I am from Paramore and Taylor Swift
P!nk, Ed Sheeran and Three Days Grace.
I am from Jasport backpacks and shiny silver Macbooks,
of pretty dresses and black converse.
I am from spiced air and soaring skyscrapers
Embassy standing proud as hooves soar above striped oxers.

I am from blue china plates, dove wings fluttering across glass as tall flutes tinkle merrily.
The loud bark of a Yorkshire Terrier, golden brown and grey merging with light.
Gleaming stainless steel food bowls and knotted paw-printed leashes.
From opinions and beliefs, colours brightening and molding across a sheet of canvas.
Music notes black and fleeting yet lingering in the soul
fingers strumming guitar strings and pressing frets lovingly.

I am from crisp white paper stained with musings of my mind
of ink shaping ideas, of characters and places skirting through my dreams.
Paint spattered canvas, ink stained fingertips, charcoal covered palms.
Fine paintbrushes splashing life into grey and pencils sketching endlessly.
I am from battered Beanie Babies and scattered rainbows of rubber bands
messy buns and loose waves tickling the cloth on my shoulder.
Shifting dreams and warm, steady love from my mother’s open arms,
of my father’s never ending support and comforting, confident voice.

I am from the pale moonlight dappling lakes,
mysterious, tender silver setting the murky water aglow yet leaving some hidden.
Fluffy orange dipped clouds drifting slowly along the setting sun,
bursting with memories and full of glimmering hope tinged with acceptance.
I am from the trees, the flowers and the wind;
from the night sky and the breathtaking dawn.
I am from Cassopeia as she glows duskily against the stars,
from the abstract, storytellers of the universe.
Faint stardust spinning through space,
soft red powder forming my features in the timeless void of memories.



Thursday, 17 January 2013

discount shops

I love discount shops. They're like large spaces filled with bits and pieces of people's lives and forgotten fragments of the past–from nail polish to faded Mario plushies they have everything once valued and once loved by someone.

I recently found a really amazing discount shop in Plaza Singapura which was massive and had these sparkling glass displays with different things inside them; a plushie showcase, O.P.I nail polish for eight dollars, trading cards, video games, sweaters, panda clocks and watches, accessories and many other little things. I found some really amazing bargains there–especially the nail polish which was a mere $8 compared to the usual $20 price. It was in amazing colours; deep blues tinged with shadowy purples, light greens, glimmery silvers with the slightest touch of turquoise and dusky, ripe reds.

Another thing I really love about discount shops is the little silver keys used to unlock those sparkling showcases filled with forgotten memories and once used items. They cluster tightly, glowing like moonlight in the darkness; the only way to free the inhabitants from their shining mirror-panelled prison.

I think I'll go back again sometimes.

tanisha x (:

Monday, 14 January 2013

The Delhi Gang-rape News Story

In Delhi a women and her boyfriend boarded a private bus after watching a movie. The six men on the bus as well as the driver, stopped it and threw her male companion outside. They then raped her repeatedly, abused her and tried to run her over. After the terrible ordeal, they left her bleeding profusely with severe injuries on the street. She was sent to a hospital with brain injuries and was the victim of a heart attack. She died in a hospital in Singapore; her organs shutting down. Her brutal rape and murder sparked riots, protests and rage for this helpless victim in such a horrible situation. Many are still protesting for rape laws, death penalty and holding candlelight vigils for rape victims. More rapes continue to be committed after this awful incident.

I feel the facts in this article are that "six men boarded the bus" and her last words "I want to see those men burnt alive" among some others like the injuries sustained the fact they flew her out to Singapore and how the male companion was the only witness. However some things that might have been made up are where she died as in some articles they said her organs were shutting down in India yet in others they did not; the details of her death got very murky and muddled up towards the end. Also another thing which might have been exaggerated is when the witness said the six men were lying in wait for them. Possibly that may be true; but it might've been six men who were merely drunk while inhabiting the bus and the fate which was inflicted on the victim may have happened to any unfortunate girl.

Some of the things that differed in the articles were that in one page the article had subheadings and a slideshow of pictures with captions underneath displaying the people affected by the gang rape and otherwise. It was a more professional website while in another it was shorter, less organized and detailed. It also looked and the writing style was less professional and informative. Another article had many pictures and a nice layout; the writing style was more like putting the facts out there rather than connecting with it.