About the Poet

Manas is a student of Our Own High School (Al Warqaa). He is extremely passionate about writing poems.

He has a blog to his credit where his creativity finds myriad expressions. He values constructive opinions and his peers  greatly admire his cheerful disposition at all times. His favorite pastime is reading and he enjoys singing.

Nursery Rhyme

As I heard the familiar jingle of a nursery rhyme,

It took me to the days of my past,

The joy of hearing it once again,

A flood of all the memory it had cast,

The memory of me and all my friends,

And how we’d sit silent to hear our teacher read,

The same old, monotone voice,

Rung deep within, like a seed,

The seed planted in my head to the tree of memories it had cast,

The familiar faces around me, giggling, tittering,

I couldn’t help but hold back a tear of joy

To think of all those days of nonsensical bickering,

The bickering we had over simple solutions,

Like whether or not to play a certain game,

And then when someone would hurt another,

We’d all just, sit, point, and blame

I chuckled softly at those memories,

As the nursery rhyme my teacher taught, had bought back,

The familiar figure of the lady that taught me,

And how lovely she looked in her sacque,

She taught us this one and so many more,

Yet this held some place in my heart,

I thought of all of the others, yet always back to this,

For some reason my mind would dart

But here I am standing where she stood,

In front of all those students,

In the same classroom, the same bench from all those years ago,

Although the words not quite as fluent,

She had been laid to rest years ago,

But I know she watches me from up above,

I hope I’m doing justice to the position she once held,

Showering children with knowledge and love.

She may no longer be with me, teaching me,

The small boy who had once cried for petty quarrels,

But even from her resting place, her teachings shall pass on,

Every word, every method, every moral.