Education poems for those who need the inspiration to take that first step towards a brighter future. This collection of poems about education glorifies the importance of literacy beyond the basic meaning of the term. Educative poems makes one aware of many important life aspects with a positive perspective. Sometimes when mere books don’t work, children need poems to educate them and make them sensitive towards issues they are unaware of. All these educating poems are written with a deep sense of responsibility in order to make a difference to the world. If done through poetry education always works. And though they are called educative poetry, they are interestingly full of fun.
Education ought to bring us out of dark Ought to take us to lights bright Ought to enrich our knowledge And make our cognitive powers sharp. But is it true of it today? Does it open new vistas? Does it
Trapped inside complete incarceration A false image of self-representation I am an observer but I am part of the problem No one is real it’s all an illusion Altered personalities to avoid exclusion I try to be true but truth
The golden pot of Education Education, education, education This is the most powerful weapon one can use to conquer the world. In the modern world we are living in life without education is just like a veld without plantation .
Look around and see, there’s knowledge everywhere for free. The trees that stand tall, teach us never to bow down even if you fall. Beautiful birds that soar the sky, tell us to never look down even when you feel
The minute that you meet her she will tell you she is ill She keeps all her medication upon her windowsill And I have to say It makes a fine display Her grandchildren are fascinated by their colours, shapes and
Unto thee, I salute, In the eminence that you have procured. Accept my utmost greets. for thy being great, Unto thee,I Congratulates. Now, you may flaunt. Tell to your parents exultant. Make a clangor triumphant. let us exult. Unto thee,
Neither a coaching class nor experience, We had in baby-sitting, feeding and Cleaning little kids; but managed, somehow, With the limited knowledge, we played it; The little one kept me and my wife, Always active and alert, we never went
Good evening, class. Tonight we will discuss the urban environment of American cities, the neighborhoods, hoods & enclaves Of a collection of people, some who step carefully over glass- covered sidewalks & play in Needle-filled parks, who avoid the homeless
Sunny sweaty days you gave to me. Hot and humid nights you fed to me. Your dark and scary clouds frightened me. Your thunder rolls and flashing lightning startled me. With heavy rains you flooded the land. Your tornadoes blew
Or, at least that’s what you might think. Judgement hurts in too many ways to count. I stand in the local thrift market looking for trinkets and such with my father. He came here to look for vintage picture frames
Respect life, it is the only one you have Respect yourself, because YOU are God’s miracle Respect your parents; they may not be there for long Respect every human being, irrespective of their status in life You never know, whom
As I walk this road Down campus life In perpetual mode Will I be a wife? Bitter roads ahead Made of highs and lows’ Hanging out with friends Throwing little blasted blows Dare I write a book Or graduate Give
It was the winter night of that year When tricky fate stormed my family When my beloved mom was left alienated With the abominable tragic demise of my dad And was burdened with six posthumous infants in her lap. The
My name is Richa… Does it really matter?! It could’ve been Mala …Seema…Sita..Nirbhaya or even Chabili.. In the end I would’ve been married to a much older man.. or abandoned after impregnating in a forest.. I wash utensils …clean floors..
The river is frozen It can’t decide whether To go private or public For its matriculation Or even which subject It should pursue. Irony demands cartography, Hydrology, but given Its use it has thought, With the quickened springtime Flow of
Dare to question madness, valiant, ever courageous, interrogate absurdity, what you find vexatious. Never refuse to face unyielding resistance, stay true to your beliefs, remain ever consistent. If there is a price to pay for the right of knowledge, and
There is far too much evil in this long misused world, too much force-fed fear. Too many bent and broken lives adrift on a torrent of tears. Too many innocent children being brainwashed in too many crowded halls. Pointless graffiti
The voice of good education Echoes through the hall Drowning out even the droning of the fan Solid silence suspended above and between Minds being moulded into something acceptable This is the way forward, we are told The only way
I tire of the feelings of dread That envelop my heart every day. The dread, and the hopelessness, That fuels this necessary evil of life. Analysis, thinking, computation, Makes my brain overheat Like an outdated machine under pressure. But still
Dear son, African American warrior, Reincarnation of the people of the Sudan. I hope you understand why I am writing you this letter. And hopefully, by the time you read it Race relations in America are a lot better than what
It is said, that suffering shows the truth. Only the sufferer discovers light of Being. Light contains seven colors. Yet I didn’t manage to catch the Rainbow. It is said, that suffering is, what is True. I know! I know!
“I am pure blue-blood”, said he, “as pure as it can get.” of the tall, fair, handsome varieties. Twice over I despised him but managed but a smile, as he deviously managed to convey his derision for us darker-skinned commoners.
Value deterioration is too fast Humanity should stay steadfast. The world should wake to crisis And hit it at its head like a dart. Vices are quickly escalating Greed runs at neck-break speed Making the people more physical Eat, drink
“HMS Trincomalee, British Man-O-War, sixty guns, one hundred gross tons was she, The Purser and Pressman am I, managing a pressgang in strict service of country and King. Her ships bell marking time; bosun pipes: Captain arrives! She’ll turn with
They sit on high chairs Where they wear most expensive clothes Their shoes were pointed and shining They speak like parrots and walk like peacocks They made promises which they will never fulfil They live in a hell of paradise
There are some things I have come to believe. Believe me when I say, I am not deceived. Sometimes the good die young, and never receive. Unfairness exists, and persists, though ill conceived. Sometimes everybody gets pushed around, or cheated.
Angelic, able-bodied and adventurous amateurs aimed awkwardly at associates after attempting another assassination. Beleaguered, beaten and broken beasts barely breathing; bathed in beautiful basins. Begging became boasting beyond borders and busty brides blushed before being bought by bashful brutes. Camps
Ouroboros is its own meal The same is true with Those from own country that steal! To hamstrung the incumbent Most party members are not hesitant. Ouroboros,they adore their party, Which they obliviously or Otherwise sully with A rent-seeking identity.
You make your own assumptions of the way that I must be, You draw your own conclusions from the paperwork you see, I’m just a diagnosis, you’ve seen it all before, I see you are surprised when I walk in
A sea of faces filtering in like a wave of humans causing movement. Noisily chatting about life, with no sense or purpose. Having no insight to gain an education nor goals in life. Journey in this path turned completely unpredictable
Though by birth born in a caste predominantly of business class where Goddess Lakshmi loves to reside, He grew up in the company of sacred caste predominantly of learned class where Goddess Saraswathi would settle Right from his tender age
She stood on the lowest rung of the ladder Bereft of all good things in life. Her state of existence was conditioned by the divide That created a gulf between the haves and have-nots. The gulf showed no sign of