Inner Voice

Yours and Mine

The moon and sun have lost their shine the night stars are no longer mine the world I once had on a string is now among my precious lost things the telephone no longer rings her favourite song I no longer sing her favourite dress that I used to wear reminds me that she no longer cares her coffee cup up on the sink only makes me stop and think of all the times and wines we shared while building dreams out somewhere our walks and talks with those dreams just slightly out of reach believing our love was strong and true never wanted any person but you but now some dreams have withered and died there will be no more sandcastles in the sky that breathless feeling is no longer there or the thrill of a kiss that once was shared gone is the lovelight from the eyes some dream has withered and died it’s sad to know it was yours and mine! But I just wanna to pray you my sweet dish Please come back in my activity and Again we say you are mine ! Aksham Jandial (Teh-Majalta) Udhampur

Infinity

All is infinite. How can it be possible? I do not know. I only know finite Is not possible. All is one. How can it be possible? I do not know. I only know two or more Cannot be possible. It’s an endless journey. How can it be possible? I do not know. I only know End is not possible. We have endless past. How can it be possible? I do not know. I only know Birth is not possible. Sujit De

GOOD HEALTH

Health is the most valuable wealth, I hope you agree, No doubt, health is the sweetest fruit of life tree, Do not abuse your body, develop it sound and strong, And ensure a life full of happiness, beside being long. Good health is the best source of constant treat, Money can buy you food, but bad health won’t let you eat. Good health turns your life into charm and grace, With everybody bowing before your face Good health is a kind gift of God and a bliss, What we do with it is a gift from us to God with a kiss Praniti Jamwal 6-A, St. Mary’s Presentation Convent School Gandhi Nagar, Jammu

EVERY SUNDAY MORNING

The ringing of the doorbell, every Sunday morning, sets me running as fast, as if someone had given a fire warning. Out of my bed I jump, landing on the floor with a thump. Putting on my slippers, I run past the yummy Sunday Kippers. I ignore my mum's shouts, telling me not to run here about. I sprint towards the wooden door, turning down every chore. I turn the handle and pull it towards me. I lower my eyeballs and the ground I see. On the front steps, I find my bundle of joy, ‘The Excelsior Magazine,’ waiting for me to be read by. Shreya Sharma Changran, Kathua