White is the color of Beautiful Like a dove Soaring over a forgotten mountain lake Snow Blanketing the landscape In a soft white Paradise Essence of pine Like a cello’s music Sweeping the night Alone But that makes it even more Serene Like a white sail Rising up a mast Against a coral blue sea Waving about Taking You there Like a patch Of white roses Among the ashes The start Of new life Dylan Sherman, 10Seattle, Washington
Poetry-Reflections
When I Understood
NEW DELHI, INDIA, 2002 Staring wide-eyed out of the car window I look down at the dusty bodies of children clustered below me. Their hair is streaked with dust and grime Their skin darkened to a crisp by the intensity of the broiling summer sun. Their writhing hands clutch at the shiny silver metal of our car Grabbing hungrily at the colorful juice boxes my parents offer from the windows. I know I should be enjoying the bustling world around me, but somehow I can’t. The road is a blur of color and life; Vendors shout from their stalls Advertising a rainbow of colorful fruits and vegetables Or fine cloth dyed sunset orange, rose pink, indigo. Sweat clings to their dark skin as they haggle and argue with customers passing by Or just catch up on the latest gossip. Chickens strut through the crowd like confident butlers; A cow slowly ambles its way through the people. Despite the crowd the blasting honks of cars’ horns sound as they force their way through, Shiny metal islands in a sea of bodies. But I am taking in none of this; My eyes are riveted to the children. I catch sight of a girl about my age, Seven, Her dark hair pulled back in a messy braid, Clutching the grubby hand of a wriggling two-year-old. Seeing the look of amazement and longing that fills her eyes As her gaze sweeps over our car I offer her one of the juice boxes With trembling fingers. She grabs it Immediately handing it to her little sister. Just watching the little girl inhale the sweet drink Its contents spilling from her mouth and running down her chin like a thousand rivers I think of all the times I’ve stormed out of the room crying after losing a game of checkers, Argued with my brother about who had to go first for piano lessons, Made faces when my parents made me eat vegetables. I can remember those times when my mom got angry, Yelling, “Don’t you understand, there are children dying in the world?” Looking down at the thin, hungry bodies of the children surrounding me At the toddler devouring the juice At the grateful look the girl gave me I realized that, For the first time, I did understand. Malini Gandhi, 13Auburndale, Massachusetts
For No One
I watch her From the garden A baby girl Wobbling around, like a buoy On a choppy ocean, Batting playfully At her rainbow of toys, Her blue eyes, Darting around the room. Her mother softly coos, “So big,” With a pearly smile Drifting gently up her face. The baby shoots Her tiny fingers Towards the heavens. The mother, Clapping and cheering, Tells everyone. But when I Was a sprout, Nestled warm In my cocoon of soil, Like the jelly encased In a fluffy doughnut, Soaking up the nutrients, Readying for my awakening, The thunder boomed to me, “So big!” With its blinding smile Shooting straight to the ground. I sprawled out My verdant fingers And rocketed to the sky, My tiny heart full Of pure pride; All the creatures in the forest Saw me, But they told No one. Mara Schiffhauer, 12Tabernacle, New Jersey
