I Met A Rabbit

I met a rabbit in the woods,
With no whisker but two boots,

I asked him, ‘Sir, where are your whiskers?’
He replied, ‘I traded them for a pair of boots and some biscuits’,

It did make no sense to me, to why a rabbit would do such,
As, a pair of boots and some biscuits could do him not much,

The rabbit muttered softly, ‘It is unwise of you to look down on us creatures,
Only because we haven’t any human features,’

I was taken aback by the rabbit’s statement,
Only to grin in ailment,

As for me, it is peculiar for a rabbit, whose gift is to hop,
To mask such gift like what a wrapper has done to a lollipop,

In great humility I questioned him once more, ‘How are you to escape a fox,
When it is done with a man’s lox?

You can jump not, with those boots on,
Making you an easy con,’

The rabbit then replied in displeasure, ‘I have brains of my own,
You make me frown,

I can take them off whenever I want,
And put them back on when I’m done,’

Notwithstanding, it made me still wonder,
‘What were the biscuits for, besides easing his hunger?’

A Short But Few Lines To She Who Has Caught My Attention

Shall I kiss thee under the fading sun,
Before the moon do us part,
Thereto, I pray not be parted fool,
If at sunrise, we depart.

In Life

'Angels come and go, but God stays with you'- Sunil Rao.

To Doubt

'To doubt, is to submerge thyself in the ocean of endless despair'- Sunil Rao.

The Magical Colors Of My Life

Orange makes me smile,
Makes me go the extra mile,
Makes me love the river Nile,
Even when the day was never mine,

Grey makes me moody,
Makes my face appear gloomy,
The contrary of being happy,
In a world that’s both cool and crappy,

Green makes me sick,
Makes me feel like jumping into a creek,
Whence all is not fine and I’m meek,
As this feeling will help my heart tick,

Red makes me love,
The pleasant white dove,
Perched on the rooftop and will never move,
Even when it spots danger from up above,

Black makes me feel classy,
In a town that’s full of the fussy,
Ever ready not to go out messy,
When the weather is ever present to make one Muck’sy,

Blue makes me hope,
During days when I could never cope,
With the fast-paced lifestyle that never seems to hit a slope,
Never losing energy like a hybrid coupe,

Yellow makes me flimsy,
When the light is lit dimly,
In a corridor longer than a chimney,
Walk straight down of it and you’ll see me shortly.

This poem was written by Sunil Rao.
Please do not use it without permission I plead.

Night, Day, Winter & Summer

The night was told,
That the day was old,
The snow was cold,
And the sun was bold,

Bats come out to have a snack,
Wild dogs hunt in a pack,
The bear was gentle to create no crack,
Whilst the camel was told to hit the sack,

During the night, creatures nocturnal are on their killing spree,
During the day, creatures diurnal are able to see,
During winter there's no sight of a bee,
During summer the ice melts, revealing what looks like a broken knee,

Lights glow brightly in the night at Manhattan bay,
London loses not its gray complexion during the day,
Russia's north is covered by snow they say,
While kids under the scorching sun bathe in the open in a manner all too gay,

The night is both mysterious and puzzling,
The shining sun causes the surface of the water to appear puzzling,
Under the blanket of snow life is teeming,
People wanting the rain are singing.

This poem was written by Sunil Rao.
Please do not use them without permission I plead.

War

In the springtime ferrets flee,
Hiding in their burrows from the one who see,
High above with wings so large,
Making shadows on the grounds of life,

Scent is the gift of smell,
Let’s predators and scavengers tell,
A dead thing in the not too distant land,
That has parted from this earth and sand,

Beauty is such a gift,
With it one can persuade anyone in a swift,
Making them not think twice of their actions,
In a world with a great deal of expectations,

In a fairly low density quarters Far East,
Political instability sends some away from their feast,
To carry arms and AK-47’s,
Firing bullets and sending many into tears,

Asked a man; is life a real-time war-game?
He answers; if so, I am pretty bad in getting some game,
Not that I don’t know how to pull the trigger,
It’s just that I’ve not the heart to be a killer,

In the past, waging war against another nation,
Was so commonplace without any sort of notion,
People were most probably bored and left for their station,
Having no Nintendo nor a Play Station,

War is such a beautiful game,
Especially to those who win and fame,
Come knocking to their doorstep,
Not so much so a grand occasion for those who lost, cry and weep,

The glory of a nation depends on,
A leader who’s in charge in running the whole operation,
For instance if you have Hitler,
Then you’ll most probably win having also a leading member in the form of Himler.

This poem was written by Sunil Rao.
Please do not use them without permission I plead.