William's Cloud

Poem By Deborah White

Though the culture of Australia he openly embrace
The sad look of nostalgia it comes across his face
When you talk to him of India and his Hometown of Bombay
Still me happy here in Melbourne the dark eyed Rahul say.

That accent that he brought with him is with him for to stay
It came with him and stays with him the man from far away
Last week he turned forty one his hair is turning gray
And he'll be twenty years in Melbourne on the fifteenth of May.

His wife a white Australian and their only child is thirteen
And the Land her father came from Rahul's daughter has not seen
Yet she does look very Indian with long straight and raven hair
A teenage dusky beauty with brown eyes and beauty rare.

He has told her about Bombay 'far too many people there'
Where sixty thousand must grow poorer just to make one millionaire
And though he does love life in Melbourne the accent never lie
And he will be an Indian until the day he die.

When Australia play India in cricket his Country's colours he don
And he doesn't feel ashamed to say that he urges India on
Walter Scott in his 'Lay of the last Minstrel' told of love of Homeland
And that Rahul still loves India not hard to understand.

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Racism Is Around Me Everywhere

Of human ignorance I am almost in despair
For racism is around me everywhere
But like they say sheer ignorance is bliss
Just like Judas betrayed Jesus with a kiss.

A Beautiful Day

In the blue sky just a few specks of gray
In the evening of a beautiful day
Though last night it rained and more rain on the way
And that more rain is needed 'twould be fair to say

A Ballad Of Wasted Years

I have walked through tougher Harlem where few strangers dare to go
And I've been in London City in the rain and in the snow
And I've worked in inner Melbourne in the searing summer heat
And believe me if I tell you I have earned the bread I eat.

A Beautiful Person With A Heart Of Gold

She sees things of beauty in all that she see
And what's beautiful to her seems ugly to me
What to her is a flower to me is a weed
We do seem so different so different indeed.

The Sound Of Laughter

The sound of laughter is a thing of beauty for laughter spreads the very gift of joy
That people they are drawn to happy people is not that hard for to understand why
Since everybody wishes to be happy and laughter it spreads happiness around
And only the heartless could not like the sound of laughter for laughter is a very happy sound,

The Admirable Mo

My admiration for him it only does grow
For a braver one than he is of i may never know
A paraplegic due to a motor accident forty years ago
Now in his early sixties the admirable Mo