Oreos&OxyeyeDaisies

In a town called Kasukabe , a legend did rise, With eyebrows so thick and mischievous eyes . From infants in cradles with gums oh-so-bare, To old folks in rockers, with not a tooth to spare. "Yeh ladka toh kamaal hai," the parents would say, When he’d moonwalk through the kitchen, in a most cheeky way. From diapers to dentures, all ages unite, In fits of giggles, from morning to night. "Yeh toh bilkul filmy hai," Grandpa declares, As Shinchan’s drama unfolds, catching everyone unawares. Sarcasm is his shield, Wit his trusty blade, In the game of humor, he's got it made. Masoomiyat ka natak hai,” some critics might chide, But even they chuckle, unable to hide. From his ‘ butt-butt dance’ to his random spree, He’s the comedian we all wish to be. Even the Dadi who knits by the light of the moon,  Can't help but giggle when Shinchan's in tune.  “Yeh bacha toh bahut smart hai,” she finally admits,  As he outsmarts Hiro, in clever little skits. At weddings...

They call him Rude Ralph, the mischief king, But is he as bad as they often sing? Sure, he’s got a laugh that’s loud and bold, But let’s look at the truth, let’s have it told. Ralph once gave Henry a toad in a box, “Just a joke!” he said, amid giggles and squawks. But when Henry was down and feeling blue, Ralph was the friend who always came through. They say he’s rude, but he’s really just blunt, Like a comic book hero on a wild stunt. When Susan lost her lunch, and tears did stream, Ralph shared his sandwich, with extra cream. He’s like a volcano, fiery and loud, But inside he’s as gentle as a summer cloud. Like a firework, he may seem too bright, But he lights up the dark and makes it all right. Remember the time he yelled, “Boo!” at the fair? The lady jumped high, almost lost her hair. But later that day, when she was in need, Ralph carried her bags, a true friend indeed. He’s a bit like licorice, strong and tough, But sweet at the core, if you taste enough. His jokes might be wild...

In the town of Varanasi, where love’s on parade,   Lived Kundan the romancer, a poetic charade,   With a heart full of dreams and a head full of plans,   He’s chasing his crush like a sitcom with fans. He’s writing her letters that she’ll never read,   And gifting her roses, though they’re mostly weed,   He’s proposing in poetry, where rhymes go astray,   It’s like Shakespeare and Dr. Seuss had a bizarro ballet. Zoya’s just trying to live her own life,   While Kundan’s still caught in a world of his strife,   He’s chasing her around with a love so intense,   It’s like a rom-com where logic takes a long holiday fence. BUT............................. In the same lanes of Varanasi, where love's supposed to bloom, Kundan’s steps turned sour, like a scent of impending gloom, He chased after Zoya with a fervor unkind, His romantic pursuits, well, they crossed the line. He lurked in the shadows, in every...

In a grand mansion, all shiny and bright, Little Kevin’s left home alone for the night, His family’s off on a holiday spree, Leaving him with a house that’s one big DIY spree. Kevin’s the kid who’s got plans and flair, Turning his home into a trap-filled lair, With marbles and paint cans, his traps are a hoot, The burglars are doomed—this kid’s on the pursuit! Harry and Marv, oh what a pair, Like two clowns with a penchant for despair, They stumble and fumble, their faces all bruised, By Kevin’s clever traps, they’re thoroughly confused. "Home Alone" is basically the cinematic equivalent of leaving your toddler with a pack of wild raccoons and saying, “Good luck!” The film is a charmingly chaotic tale of a kid, Kevin McCallister, who’s left alone in his family’s lavish house while his relatives go on vacation. Spoiler alert: the raccoons are replaced by two hapless burglars, but the chaos is just as entertaining. Let’s start with Kevin, the pint-sized mastermind. He’s like a...

नाता बेतुकी दिल्लगी से तोड़ना जाने ना आने वाले कल की फ़िकर से जोड़ना जाने ना Under moonlit skies, we dance and sway, Embracing life in a carefree way, With laughter loud and spirits high, Ye Jawani Hai Deewani, we cry. Friendships forged in fires bright, In the tapestry of endless night, Memories etched as time flies by, Ye Jawani Hai Deewani, we fly. With dreams unbound and hearts set free, In the present moment, we just be, Through ups and downs, we dare and try, Ye Jawani Hai Deewani , we reply. So when the journey seems too tough,  And every stride feels not enough,  Remember this, as you wander far,  Mera falsafaa kandhe pe mera basta  Chala main jahaan le chala mujhe rasta. In every breath, in every mile,  We face the world with steady smile. And though the future's veil may hide,  Our spirits strong, we will abide,  Kal pe sawaal hai, jeena filhaal hai,  " Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani " is basically a roller coaster ride through the theme park of...

Beneath the moon's gentle and silvery light,   Dreams dance with sorrow, in a beautiful plight.   For love, though sweet, oft carries its thorn,   Ae dil hai mushkil, in a heart so worn. The heart, a wanderer in a world so vast,   Clings to memories, of a love that won’t last.   In every beat, a reminder so clear,   Ae dil hai mushkil, yet we persevere. For in the trials of love, strength we find,   In the dance of the heart, with the soul intertwined.   Though the journey is tough, and the road is long,   Ae dil hai mushkil, but it makes us strong. So let the heartache, in its glory, be sung,   For in every struggle, a new hope is begun.   Ae dil hai mushkil, but through love's pure art,   We find in the end, the resilience of the heart. And as we walk this path so free,   With eyes wide open, hearts carefree.   We find the truth, we finally see,...

On Mars, where silence reigns and dust is king, A lone soul wrestles with the cosmic sting. In the red expanse where hope seems faint and thin, A story of survival begins within. So, here’s to The Martian , with its tale so grand, Of a soul who forged his way on alien sand. In its story, a reflection of our own, A reminder that we’re never truly alone. For life’s a journey, as uncharted as the stars, And like Watney’s path, we navigate through scars. With hope as our compass and will as our guide, We conquer the vast unknown with spirit as our stride. In a world where countless films flicker across screens, The Martian stands out not merely as entertainment but as a metaphor for life itself. Its narrative, centered around an astronaut stranded on Mars, transcends the boundaries of science fiction and becomes a reflection of our human experience. At its core, The Martian is a tale of relentless perseverance. Mark Watney, played with brilliance by Matt Damon, is faced with an inhospitab...

Oh, the irony of critiquing verse while penning praise for prose, as if my poem's the perfect medium for what it opposes! WHO CARES!!!!! In the realm of words where rhythms collide,   Poetry dances, its form tightly tied.   With verses and stanzas that rhythmically play,   It molds its emotions in a structured ballet. But prose, oh prose, how it gently unfolds,   In the vast expanse where freedom beholds.   It speaks in a voice that’s unconfined,   Where feelings are captured, raw and refined. No need for the rhyme, no meter to bind,   It flows with a freedom that’s truly unlined.   Thoughts are unraveled in their natural grace,   With prose, every nuance finds its own place. In poetry’s realm, the lines must conform,   To a cadence and beat that shape and transform.   Yet prose, in its essence, remains unrestrained,   A canvas of thoughts where emotions are plain. It ...

 In the quiet of her room, dreams took flight, A young filmmaker spun tales in the night. With passion aflame and a heart full of light, She painted the world in black and white. Each day she crafted scenes with care, Directing life with a visionary’s stare. Angles shifted, stories refined, A cinematic universe uniquely designed. In shadows and light, her stories unfurled, Visions of grandeur, a new, vivid world. A lens in her hand, an artist’s pure gaze, Transforming the mundane into a dazzling blaze. But fate’s cruel hand came, dark and swift, Snatching away her dreams, her precious gift. A life full of promise, cut far too short, A storyteller silenced; dreams left to thwart. She'd wake each morning, with a script in mind, A new narrative, fresh scenes to find. Adjusting the angle, perfecting the shot, Every frame a masterpiece, each line a thought. Yet now her room lies silent, cold, No more stories left to be told. The camera rests, its film unspent, A poignant symbol of dream...