These are the poem and short story entries of our students for the Emirates Literature Festival 2016. The theme for this year was Journeys and the entries posted here are of our KS4 and KS5 students. Each of these are a delight to read and reveal the linguistic and creative abilities of our students. We hope you enjoy reading them.
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STRENUOUS SERENITY By Fatema Virani.
A walk through that day is like no other, A prolonged day; complete with hunger, thirst, and pain. The sunrise an indication of terror and destruction, The darkness of night; the end of it all. A bright young soul slaughtered, A teen’s body trampled into a trillion pieces, The hands of the flag bearer bleed as they touch the ground, The lifeless body of an innocent infant exhibited extravagantly. Yet this does not suffice the tyrants, The cries of children and weeping of women, are still incompetent to convey the pain this wound has inflicted, A wound that will bleed until the end of time. How can it be? Such brutal murders accepted in such a humane manner? How can it be? That the oppressors have oppressed. They have succeeded. They have succeeded in annihilating the present, The future is not in their control. Their victory is only physical, For the metaphysical is beyond their comprehension. Thus, this is not the end, Meanwhile, the domain holds no peace, It holds nothing, Except fear of the tribulations welcomed by dawn. ... Fly west and the journey continues, The tears and blood of a nation are the fuel and oxygen of another. A world of dreams for one is the rigid reality for another. As this fabric of reality shatters, We take it into our hands to walk this journey. A footslog of freedom, A procession of peace, A journey of justice. the first body is a baby;
a fragile, delicate vessel, a cornucopia of promise, gilt stars on a report card an d a rainbow freckled aura. but He says she isn't strong enough, with her staccato heartbeart, butterfly wing blinks, satiny skin stret ched dangerously thin. “ Bring her back to me. ” He blows me into her brittle bones. mortal and divine soul settling side by side. yet her soul stays sage, while I glitter gold, overpowering, leaving behind a bleached rosebud with blue veins. and in anguish, I leave her spirit with my brothers, a nd move on to the next. the second body is a teenage boy; sorrow and smoke ensnared in his lungs, bitter mosaic heart leaving a sour taste on my tongue. I fold my wings and sleep in his spine, cocooned in granite, an angel trapped in a gargoyle. “ Give him the sunrise, ” He commands. “ Give him the sun. ” and what was once devoid, and what was once dull, my gleaming gold turns amber, turquoise, byzantium and rum. he drops the cigarettes; his cries become constellations on canvas. and I slip out in euphoric bliss, before stepping into the l ast one. the last body is an old man; he beckons for me with a crooked finger, with eyes as bright as fairy lights, a silver shock of hair and peaceful contentment sewn into his smile. his arms reach out to me, a willing embrace – but I shake my head. His voice reverberates in me: “ Tell him to wait. ” for I am not my shadowy cousin, with a cloak embroidered o f coal. the line does not fall flat, and he nods in melancholic understanding. the line did not fall flat, but his smile is now a grimace , weariness poured into wrinkles, eyes bright with crystalli ne dewdrops. finally, I float up, and sit amidst the stars, and He says, “ Welcome home. ” JOURNEYS OF A LIFETIME
When the night falls, Putting an end to the day, The road starts to call, And I must away On a journey worth a thousand lifetimes, On a journey, free from circumspect, On a journey, I will think oftentimes, And one that I will never forget As I set off to uncharted lands, To see for myself, to understand, Nature's gift to us, a new perspective on things, So much to discover so spread your wings Over hills, and under trees, Through lands where light has never shone, By silver streams that run down to the seas, To cities where generations agone Lands long forgotten and ever since drowned, Awaiting the day's arrival, yet to be found, Jaw-dropping places, and magical fields, Variegated life, where nothing's concealed Above mountains, and below rivers, Through routes left clandestine, By sweltering heat and chilly shivers, Countless memories due predestined So, take your families and your friends, And create new beginnings with no ends, With inexorable amusement and immense, Nostalgic wonders to be experienced Thus, with this, my heart departs, Life looking different from where you stand true, To the journey's path, nature's work of art, And perceive from a bird-eye's view. Journey of life
Just as a spirited horse runs free through the midst of green pastures in joy, Our lives move uncontrollably; just as a baby runs after a toy, While children long to be adults in spirit of adventure and freedom, It’s the adults who chase the utopia of childhood without responsibility. As a new life blooms in this beautiful paradise we all call home, Sits this cuddly round child with the sparkle of innocence in his eyes, Crackle of photos to celebrate every achievement smudges the day, With the mouth ajar in the pram the little monster lay. Gushing like a stream hits the torrent of questions, The sparkle of ideas spreading along, Yet as these curious minds grow older, Their actions eventually grow bolder. Followed next is the comeliest age, When all the corners of the Earth are opened, unbound without a cage, Driven forward in the search for accolades, Leaving borders and family behind. But just as wandering birds return home despite migration, Home recalls us with new vigour, Still we ;the aviators, out of homes in our quest for adventure, Return back to the hearth without a further search for venture. Consequently brings the wee years of backbreaking labour, Of trouble ,work, without a moment of flavour, Lessons are to be learnt ; a reputation is to be established, And this isn’t possible until even their wills are murmured. Just as years pass, the speed and agility seem to crumble, The sense of balance developed seem to tremble, Clamours tingle across the knee; Quivering across the palm , When jumps timed perfectly; just don’t land. Whenever we live, should make a spark, Once we move on, need to leave a mark, The ability to forecast the havens of life, With your samaritinian ways of life. It's a hollow feeling at a corner of my heart that expands a little bit
with every heartbeat. It's a word at the tip of my tongue that I can't quite turn into a sound. It's a dull ache at the back of my mind that doesn't seem to cease. It's an almost feeling that could never fill the gaps. It's a place with a house, but without people that feel like home. It's a sickness that can't be seen but could only be felt by the heart, mind and soul. It's the presence of mind, but an absence of the feeling. It's a sickness. And so we call it, Home-sickness. Blyde River Canyon
My journey to God’s Window, A dangerously high peek at everything below, Where the rock hyrax shrieks its eerie call; Possibly the most exquisite sound of all. Lower, lower and lower as we descend, Millions of evergreen shades seem to blend. Surrounded by dainty local flora, Embraced by their pleasing aroma. Following your attempt as a mountaineer, You might as well spare time to bargain a souvenir. A positively vibrant atmosphere, Quite possibly the best in the southern hemisphere. If it’s the thrill you seek, And rather much jump off a peak. You may feast your eyes, On a roller-coaster in disguise. An eighty-six-metre-high gorge swing, For the adrenaline is unlike anything. If you’re not a ‘big fan’ of steep height, And rather much prefer a diverse site. Why not grab a companion, And meander along the Blyde River Canyon. The second largest canyon in Africa, Even better than the one in America. If your aim is for a picture-perfect view, The Three Rondavels is best fit for a hiking shoe. Fauna, Flora and not to forget the wood borers; Satisfying the needs of most explorers. Cycad, orchid, lily and protea, That’s only to you give you a slight idea. The next time you set your heart upon a journey, South Africa might just be the perfect old-age takeaway story. By Ingrid Alberts Alijaeh Go | The Winchester School, Jebel Ali
tents earthly tents one unloads and packs with sable routes to chase traversing through lofty tree stacks rooted for the desire of aborigine Space contain within the litany of worldly skeletons accumulating for sweet sublime beholding Nature’s silver evidence on the expanse of time from barren dust to fertile ashes naught to Time’s affinity to the telluric voyages’ branches through the respite of infinity each second, minute, hour, day count only through our chosen paths these amount |
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