Erased by time

Anwesha Sinha, AGS Gurgaon, Alumna

The librarian’s gentle voice floated across the room, weaving tales of old. Zahra curled into the window nook, lost in her book. Every Monday, the librarian held story time - Zahra’s favourite hour of school. But this week, Monday never came. When the weekend ended, Zahra awoke to Tuesday sunlight. The ancient clock in the library ticked with an uneven rhythm, its brass hands twitching.
The school was abuzz. “We skipped a day!” someone cheered. The teacher smiled, “At least no one is having Monday blues.” “Brilliant! We were meant to have a test,” a student added. Laughter rippled all around, but Zahra’s stomach knotted. The classroom clock was usually comforting. Today, it made her shiver. She leaned towards Natasha, who seemed upset. “Isn’t it your birthday?” she asked. “It was on Monday, but it didn’t happen.”
Neil dropped a basketball on their desk. “I had a tournament on Monday. Not anymore.” Zahra tried to recall the library’s last story hour, but the memory slipped like water between fingers. Zahra’s planner had missing entries, Natasha’s sketchbook didn’t have entire pages, and Neil couldn’t remember his last score. “Did Mondays from the past vanish as well?” they wondered.  At lunch, the three huddled together. Neil groaned, “I’m sick of forgetting everything!” Zahra murmured, “Have you ever really looked at the classroom’s clock?” “It’s quite pretty,” Natasha said. “It’s been ticking oddly,” Neil muttered. What if the clock’s causing this?” Zahra whispered. Neil scoffed; Natasha leaned in. “Then we check. Tonight.”
That evening, the clock glowed faintly. Neil brought it down. Zahra looked at the back to see a gleaming inscription: Rest young hearts, from Monday’s weight, I’ll steal the dawn to shift your fate. No weary start, no morning pain, but your memory I must drain. “The clock’s feeding on memories,” Neil whispered. They ran to the library, the brass clock creaked open with another inscription: Mend your hours misplaced, speak the thief’s words retraced. Let the light of memory rise, force Monday back into skies.
“We recite the first rhyme backwards,” Neil said. They chanted until silence swallowed the ticking. Natasha flipped her sketchbook and smiled. “Monday’s back.” The classroom clock lay still on the floor - silent, but not forgotten.

 

The Earth’s glory

Jayas Kumar, AGS Noida, IG2

We dwell within a cherished home
With nature’s beauty all around us
The sun spills gold across the skies
And birds chirp their melodious tunes

Nature bestows its love to us all
With pure air, water, and greenery
We all rejoice the nature’s treasures
But often forget to give back love

And it’s not just ungratefulness
That’s unpleasant and inhuman
It’s the sudden, striking human fear
That’s lashed the trees into the ground

They only wished to stand in joy
To stretch branches wild and free
But severed from our care and love
Nature is now broken in agony

It’s now on us to fulfill our duty
To mend the fragments, we’ve created
To heal the present, we have scarred
Give tomorrow a brand-new start

Let’s reduce, reuse, and recycle
Let’s ensure the movement is spread
We must save our dear Nature
And give back to Mother Earth.