Cover by: Alice Fang

What is The Knight’s Notebook?

The Knight's Notebook is a multimedia literature and arts magazine catering to the diverse creative pursuits at John Adams Middle School. Published a few times a year in a printed magazine and online, The Knight's Notebook showcases the best of student fiction and poetry, as well as music, film, art, and photography.

For more info visit our club website:https://sites.google.com/site/theknightsnotebook/

Check out our online version of our magazine at:

http://issuu.com/knightsnotebook/docs/winter2013

Club Advisor:Ms. Doherty

Co-Editors-in-Chief:Kavya Saravanan

Rohan Shah

Board Members

Secretary: Shivam Yadav (head secretary)

Srija Roy (alternate) Poetry Committee: Avi Sura (co-editor)

Anjana Manikandan (alternate co-editor)Anshuman Garga

Anika ShahAkshata Shukla

Prose Committee:Mehal Kashyap (co-editor)

Dhvani Kakabalia (alternate co-editor)Shivank Agrawal

Anjali AroraNitya Nadgir

Surabhi PandaSuraj Rathi

Kamani SathishkumarTej Sista

Shivam Yadav

Art Committee:Unnathy Nellutla (co-editor)

Meenu Pillai (alternate co-editor)Srija Roy (alternate co-editor)

Anshuman GargaRiya Gogri

Yashwi KumarAnjana Manikandan

Somnam RupaniKamani Sathishkumar

Photography Committee:Vibha Jadhav (co-editor)

Karthik Maniwakkam (alternate co-editor)Aarya Nehe (alternate co-editor)

Yashwi KumarSwathi Parthibha

Sonam RupaniShaili Vyas

Shivam Yadav

Hemani Patel

Film & Music Committee:Surabhi Panda (co-editor)

Kanmani Sathishkumar (alternate co-editor)Aarya NeheReeya Shah

Layout & Publications Committee:Vedika Dayal (co-editor)

Shivank Agrawal (alternate co-editor)Suraj Rathi

Web Committee:Shravani Pamireddy (co-editor)Shiv Patel (alternate co-editor)

Dhvani KakabaliaSwathi Parthibha

Table of ContentsArtwork

“Yellow Flower” by Jana Li (1st PLACE).………………………………………………………………..p. 6

“Girl with Braids” by Aarushi Parikh (2nd PLACE)…………………………………………………..p. 6

“Ocean and Mountains” by Nitya Nadgir (3rd PLACE)…………………….……………………...p. 6

“Kitten Curled up on Pillow” by Srija Roy.………..……………………………………………………p. 7

“Leopard” by Annika Liu.…………..…………………………………………………………………………p. 7

“Young Women by River” by Dhavani Kakabalia..……………………….………..………………..p. 7

Photography“Eiffel Tower” by Nirali Lavani (1st PLACE)

……………………………………………….………..…p. 8“Cave and Water” by Nirali Lavani (2nd PLACE)

……………………………………………………..p. 8“Statue of Liberty” by Nirali Lavani (3rd PLACE)…………………………………….

………………p. 8“Candle” by Nirali Lavani..

………………………………………………………………………………..….p. 8“Butterfly” by Vibha Jadhav……………………………………………………………..

………………..…p. 9“Dome” by Nirali Lavani

……………………………………………………………………………………..p. 9“Arctic Wolf” by Vibha

Jadhav………………………………………………………………………………p. 9 “Green Frog” by Vibha Jadhav………………………………………………………………...…………..p. 9

Prose“Into the Wind (Benevolence)” by Adrian Wang (1st PLACE)

……………………………..….p. 10“Thought and Suspicion” by Aarushi Parikh (2nd PLACE)

………………………………………p. 11“The Hungry Thief” by Unnathy Nellutla (3rd PLACE) ………………………..

………...….p. 12-14“Life is Not a joke” by Nitya Nadgir…………………………………………………..

…………….p. 14-15“Surfer with a Big Heart” by Meenu Pillai………………………..

…………………………..….p. 15-16

Poetry

“The Library” by Vidisha Jha (1st PLACE)……………………………..…….…………….…..……..p. 17

“F.O.O.D” by Malhar Khandare (2nd PLACE)……………………………………………..………...p. 17

“The Smile” by Priyan Selvakumar (3rd PLACE)…………………….………………………….....p. 18

“Late for Class” by Vedika Dayal ………………………………………………………………….……..p. 19

“Oh Dear Sister” by Amanda Cooney………………………………………………………..…….p. 19-20

“Deep in the Meadows” by Aarushi Parikh…………….……………………….…………….….....p. 20

“Sunsets” by William Wu……………………………………………………….………………….…….…p. 20

“First Times” by Abhishek Taruavi …………………………………………………………………....p. 20 “Jealousy” by Aarushi Parikh……………………....………………………………………………...…p. 21

Music & Film“Venus” by Rohan Shah (1ST PLACE Music)“Dynamite & Shockblaster” by Shivank Agrawal (1st PLACE Film)

To browse our film and music submissions, please visit our website:

http://issuu.com/knightsnotebook/docs/winter2013

“Yellow Flower”by Jana Li

“Girl With Braids” by Aarushi Parikh

“Ocean and Mountains”by Nitya Nadgir

“Kitten Curled Up on Pillow”

by Srija Roy

“Leopard”by Annika Liu

“Young Women by River”

by Dhavani Kakabalia

“Eiffel Tower”by Nirali Lavani “Cave and Water”

by Nirali Lavani

“Statue of Liberty”by Nirali Lavani

“Candle”by Nirali Lavani

“Butterfly”by Vibha Jadhav

“Dome”by Nirali Lavani

“Arctic Wolf”by Vibha Jadhav

“Green Frog”by Vibha Jadhav

Into the Wind (Benevolence)By: Adrian Wang

Life. Death. These words are the opposite and the literal mirrors of each other, yet they will be forever intertwined. Some live, but will never die. Some die, but never to have lived. I pondered upon these things for a while as I held out my peony flower in my cupped hand. The blood-red petals bloomed outward, gently flowing with the breeze. The peony is a beautiful flower, hard to bloom, fighting for sunlight, but when it does bloom, it is beautiful. A symbol of joy, life, and prosperity, but like all things that live, it wilts and dies, fading away in the wind.

I stood outside of a seemingly ancient hospital, but it was one that my grandfather trusted, one that he had been in during his childhood. One day we were eating fried chicken and the next thing you know, my grandmother calls and gives us the news- my grandfather was dying. We booked a flight to Taiwan, and the joy- filled vacation paradise island was now an island of sorrow, pain, and guilt. The sky shone a brilliant blue, swirls of clouds lining the ocean of the sky. My brothers hands were firmly grasped onto mine, locked together as if we let go we would die too.

My dad looked at me, gave me a nod, and we pushed the heavy wooden door to the open hall. Inside were dim lights following the hallway down. Our heels clicked as we moved forward, echoing as if hurrying us forward. 16A, the very room where my grandfather lay. A nurse came out, her forehead beaded with perspiration and bags under her eyes. She whispered into the silence, “We tried everything we could. He’s only being kept alive by his own will. He’s been waiting for you; he’s a strong man.” She sighed and walked away leaving us by ourselves, knowing that any second my grandfather may be gone from this world.

We shuffled inside, and he groaned as his eyes opened to a squint. We stood by him, not saying a word, letting him know in our thoughts; “We’re here for you. Everything is going to be okay.” He understood, and silence overwhelmed our thoughts. The only thing that could be heard was the fading beep of the heart monitor. He looked at everyone of us, like he knew that he was dying. My heart lurched at the thought that he knew that he was dying at that very moment.

I choked, a ball the size of a golf ball lodged in my throat. At last my grandfather looked at me, and suddenly, he nodded as if saying ‘No’. I understood. He looked at me, and my tears dried. I had to be strong, for him and for our family. He would be alive in our hearts, in our success and in our love. He sighed one last time and the heart monitor went silent. We all placed our flowers on his heart, letting joy and beauty help him in his afterlife. He would never be forgotten, and I knew he would never forget us.

Life. Death. My grandfather lived but never died. He was a strong, proud man until the end, and now, wherever he is, he left the earth as my

grandfather a good man. He very well defined the flower I chose to represent him with. Hard to bloom, but when it does, its glory is infinite beauty and magnificence in all ways. After it has reached its climax, it slowly wilts, growing weaker, until finally it crumbles to dust and fades away into the wind.

Thoughts and SuspicionBy: Aarushi Parikh

You squint your eyes towards the distant snow-capped mountains, illuminated by the silvery setting sun. You’re transfixed by the luminosity of the snow, so glittery that it looks like liquefied pearls. The reflection of it in the river is even prettier. You know it’s only some time before you must return and catch the train back; yet you are reluctant to move.

A crash! averts your attention from the mountains. You whirl around, almost slipping on some wet stones, only to see that a man by the boathouse has dropped his boxes. It doesn’t occur to you why he is wearing a ski mask in such warm weather or why he has been carrying around so many duct-taped boxes. You only vaguely comprehend that your feet are shuffling towards him for help.

He grins, using the only part of his face visible. You notice that he has several golden teeth in the sea of yellow teeth. Your eyebrows knit themselves into a small frown as you ponder over the reason one person could have so many dental hygiene problems.

You stand up again, as if in a trance, and tread back to the train station. Your thoughts wander back to the stranger as you purchase your ticket. Something about him seems to give you ominous feelings. You quickly dismiss that thought, thinking it to be useless to brood over something so ridiculous.

You step onto the platform, searching for a steaming scarlet train. Frowning at its tardiness, you content yourself with an exasperated sigh. You inspect a bench warily for chewed gum; then satisfied, you seat yourself on the cold metal. You snigger at the sight of a woman tripping as she runs to catch her train, disguising it into a cough as she turns and glares at you.

Leaning your head into your palms, you observe the amusing passerby. After awhile, however, you can’t help but let your thoughts stray, yet again, to the man by the river bank – his unsettling smirk, grotesque teeth. It nonplussed you. He seemed to have been scheming something. Don’t be silly, you reprimand yourself. If you think stiff like this about everyone, you’ll turn into a crackpot.

Abandoning your train ticket, you stand up and wrap your arms around yourself. You immediately feel a rush of blood surge to your head, and clutch the armrest of the bench for support. Feeling woozy, you walk with cautious, diminutive steps towards the river bank. Screams seem to be issuing from the sight. Your hazel eyes widen at the happenings, your headache becoming prominent.

Flames are arising from the rickety boathouse. Thick, gray smoke clouds your vision. People are running haphazardly, yelling and screeching. Tears begin to prick your eyes because of the burning smell. You wonder if

the suspicious man has anything to do with it. You turn to run back, only you start to feel lightheaded. Your mind seems to have gone blank.

The yelps seem to have gotten fainter as your head hits the concrete with a soft thud. You’re enveloped in darkness, oblivious to the increasing flames.

The Hungry ThiefBy: Unnathy Nellutla

The dawn’s rosy morning glow dimmed the radiance of a thousand glimmering stars set in a velvet sky, like a thousand jewels on a rich man’s cloak. The pale yellow light blended with the warm smoke of an open fire. The nut vendor’s shrill cries wafted through the desert air. I stretched lazily and my arm went right through a hole in the old red carpet. It was a good find, this old carpet. It had probably adorned the marble floors of some rich merchant’s bedroom in its better days. Now it served as a humble blanket for me, a lowly thief and beggar of the streets. As usual, my friend the dog was up before me. His sandy yellow fur blended in perfectly with the layers of dust and desert sand that covered the dull mud brick houses. He cocked his head and grinned his lopsided grin.

“When’s breakfast?” he seemed to ask.“Soon,” I unconsciously replied out loud.Smiling, I patted him on the head. I knew we would have to get out

there early if we were going to visit the nearsighted melon vendor. He wouldn’t notice this early if even the plumpest of his melons was snagged by any one of us street thieves. I dusted myself off and climbed out of my ruined old hovel to face the bustling confusion of the bazaar.

I scanned the unfolding sea of colored cloth awnings for the emerald green one with an old table under it that marked the melon man. He was, as usual, setting up the biggest of his stock for display. A foolish thing to do really. It made him the perfect target for every hungry beggar around, including me. He brought out a particularly plump specimen and my mouth watered. It would be a shame to waste such a fine fruit. I was going for it. I slung the old leather bag over my shoulder and crept slowly towards the melon stand. He set it down on top of a pile of fruit and for a split second, turned away. That was all the time I needed. I lunged for it. It was there in my hands, and in one swift movement, I directed it into my sack where it fell with a gentle plop onto the rice I had taken the day before.

I was just going to disappear into the swarms of people as I had done a thousand times before, when something caught my eye. It was a creamy ivory color, hanging gracefully from a red thread tied to the melon vendor’s awning. The light filtered through its textured surface. It was a small, creased, piece of parchment. I watched as it twirled gently in a small gust of wind.

It was beautiful but its real glory was in the symbols that decorated it. They were written with ink black as the darkest dungeon in the great palace. The words probably meant something beautiful, obviously more beautiful a phrase than anything someone like me could ever imagine, for what else could such delicate lettering convey? I was transfixed by it. All the writing

that I had ever seen had been so far out of my reach, decorating homes for the richest, or temples for the gods. This was hanging by the finest thread right there above me. I needed it. It wasn’t right for someone of my station, but I knew I had to have it.

Suddenly I was jolted out of my reverie by more practical concerns. I was going against everything I had painstakingly taught myself about being a thief. I was drawing attention to myself, standing in the middle of a bustling marketplace, inviting every passerby to bump into me. That too carrying a large bag with a melon-shaped object in it, directly in front of the melon stand. This was bad. It was a miracle I had managed to stand here this long without being caught. I quickly disappeared into a passing crowd of merchants, never taking my eyes off that tiny square of parchment, slowly spinning on its thread.

As I raced through the winding back alleys, I kept my eyes glued to the melon vendor’s stall. I knew that any little breeze could potentially send the little square of parchment gliding away to be buried in the endless seas of sand. My heart almost skipped a beat when an especially strong gust blew into the bazaar. Such a gust would surely have loosened the knot on the red thread, if it didn’t blow it away altogether. I had to hurry!

My mind was racing. I somehow couldn’t bring myself to steal the parchment. It was not meant to be stolen. Besides, I had never undertaken stealing anything other than food, I seldom filched anything of more value than the melon I had here now. My mind was traveling to a certain crevice in the decaying mud bricks of my abandoned building. In it there was dirt, dust, and one shiny gold coin. It had been lying there for years, carefully stashed and hidden. It had been the final gift from my dying father, and it was the only money I had in the world. I had almost forgotten about it, but not quite.

I reached my home, my mind swirling with ideas. My plan was to do something I had never done before. I was going to buy the parchment. To buy something, and not invite scrutiny, I had learned that you had to look “respectable”. The shopkeeper had to trust you. I had decided I was leaving nothing to chance when it came to my parchment, and so I beat the dust out of my least raggedy clothing. I went to the great lengths of taking out a pair of worn sandals that I had found. These had proven to give my feet horrible blisters, but again, I had to look respectable. I decided that even in my highly improved state, it would not be a good idea to take the bag containing the melon near the melon vendor, so I put the large sack down and took up a smaller drawstring pouch. Taking a deep breath, I thrust my arm deep into a small crack in between the bricks, and with some effort, drew out a small, dusty, coin. For a moment, I hesitated. Should I spend my only money in the world, my only reminder of my father on that piece of parchment? Then, without thinking more about it, I shoved the coin into the pouch and drew the drawstring shut. I was ready.

My new and improved self stepped awkwardly out of a darkened back alley and into a deafening crowd of customers haggling for the widest array of goods. I heard my own heart thumping over all the noise and confusion.

From the too big sandals issued a constant thump-and-flop footstep that I was sure could be heard for miles around. I looked around for the stand selling melons and leaped just in time from under the broad foot of a camel. After the caravan and two herds of goats passed by, I stared straight across from my side of the road. There was the awning there was the thread with… no parchment hanging from it! I panicked. I rushed across the street, narrowly missing being trampled by a wooden cart. I hungrily scanned the stall. There, perched upon an enormous stack of melons was the small scroll, folded down the middle. I ran to the stand and almost grabbed it. Then remembering my decision to buy, I squared my shoulders and walked purposefully towards the stand. I fingered my money pouch, strode up to the stand and cleared my throat loudly. The vendor looked around and his eyes fell on me.

“You’re here for melons? “ His mustache bobbed up and down his ruddy cheeks.

“Er, no. I want to buy your scroll of parchment over there,” I gestured towards it.

“That sign? Why?” Then I understood. It didn’t say anything special at all! It was a sign advertising the man’s melons! Now I knew what it said, yet somehow still I wanted it. By now, it was almost mine, so I gestured at the puzzled vendor and pretended not to understand. His face was puffing up, getting redder and his patience was at a breaking point. He jabbed one fat finger under each letter on the sign and pronounced it, syllable by syllable.

“Two-mel-ons-for-the-price-of-one!” “Thank you!” I exclaimed. Without further thought, I thrust the coin

into his outstretched hand, grabbed the sign and took off running. As I looked back he seemed ready to yell at me, but as he turned the coin over in his palm, his mouth closed with a snap. I gripped the parchment tightly and wove through the crowds. I darted in and out of groups of people till I found one dusty back alley and reached the run-down building that was home.

I had memorized each syllable he said. I traced my fingers slowly over the letters, repeating their syllables over and over again stringing them together like precious pearls on a necklace, till they formed words. Words not only for the rich, words for everyone. Words for me. Slowly I realized why I so craved that small piece of parchment. It was because now I knew I could learn. I could be more than just a thief. I knew my hunger, the hunger to learn and to read, had opened a door in my mind that would not be closed. Now I could read. And maybe someday, I would write.

Life is Not a JokeBy: Nitya Nadgir

“Will I survive?” thought Julie. The doctors had diagnosed that something was really wrong with her body. It was her third month in the hospital, and no one knew what it was. But tomorrow was her big day. Doctors would figure out what wrong. At least they think they would. All Julie knew was that she would live. She had hope. Later on, Julie had to wait in a long line to get some tests done.

“Julie…good luck! May all the tests come out normal,” her mom said soothingly, as it was her turn to go in. The room was boring. There was a blank wall and classic wooden desks with paper strewn all over them.

“Messy,” thought Julie.“Come in, come in,” greeted a physician as Julie walked in and sat on

the bed. In a moment’s time, they started the rest. She wore a mask and a coat. Then they sent her in a tube where she had to wait for twenty minutes. Julie just stared up into space and did nothing for the whole time.

Back in her room, Julie and her mom waited. They waited for the test results to come.

“I’m sure it’s normal,” her mom assured her.Julie nodded and then smiled. “I can’t let my attitude fail me. I have to

keep the smile on my face at all times, even if the tests don’t come out normal,” Julie thought.

Afterward, a specialist came into Julie’s room. “I have some news for you from the test,” he said. “I’m sorry to tell you, but the results are not normal. We have to do further treatment for this…And she has a slight chance of living. We’ll give her antibiotics, and I hope that’ll keep her alive. Thanks,” he told them, and then left.

Julie could see the tears streaming out onto her mother’s cheeks already.

“Julie, you’re my favorite daughter,” her mother cried.“I know.” That was all Julie could let out.

As the weeks passed, Julie got weaker and weaker. Soon enough, her brain felt stuffy, and she was always cold with fever. But she still tried to be cheerful. A smile was always on her face, and she tried to think good thoughts. Still, life was hard for her. Once in awhile, she would cry. The next week, Julie felt really sick.

“I…can’t take it…” Julie told her mom in a breathy voice.“Julie…I love you,” said her mom, holding her hand tight.“You’re the best mom in the world. I love you, too,” Julie answered.

Then the grip on her mother loosened and Julie’s eyes were closed. They never opened again.

EPILOGUE

Julie’s best friend was heartbroken when Julie died, so she wanted to say a few words.

“Julie was a great friend. She has never done anything to disappoint me. When I found out she was in a life and death situation, all I could think about was her. I sent her an email one day, after she found out she was going to die. She replied back to me saying she would see me again. She sent me smiley faces and stars. Julie was a really happy girl. I will never forget her.”

A Surfer with a Big HeartBy: Meenu Pillai

Beverly was finishing the last problem of her Algebra homework. 4x + y = 2 + 8, it read. She wrote the answer down and ran into the bathroom to change. She snatched her surfing suit and closed the bathroom door behind her.

Two minutes later, Beverly came out in her suit and her hair tied up. Beverly slipped on her sandals and grabbed her lime green surfboard from the wall of her bedroom, closing her door shut.

“Mom, I’m going to go surf at the beach!” Beverly hollered to her mother as she added marinara sauce to the spaghetti, mixing the delicious red sauce with the stringy noodles. Beverly walked down the steps of her house in California and onto the beach. It was about four o’clock, so the sun was still out. Beverly left her sandals on the stairs and headed towards the beach. She ran to the waves and stood up on top of her board. She saw a big wave coming. That big wave just went over her head. Beverly’s surfboard flipped over as she went underwater. Her arms and legs went flying everything. She suddenly felt a prick on her right palm. Beverly swam up to the surface.

“Aaaah!” she screamed. She couldn’t swim anymore because her palm was in a lot of pain and burning so much. The lifeguard ran to the edge of the water with a life buoy and pulled her onto the sand and picked her up. The lifeguard went to call her mom or dad while Beverly rested on the sand in pain. Seconds later, Beverly’s mother and the lifeguard came running down to her to and asked what happened.

“I saw a big wave coming, but then I flipped over, went underwater and got pricked by some poisonous coral! It hurts so much!” She explained everything to her mom and the lifeguard. Beverly’s mom walked Beverly over to the car, buckled her in, and started driving to the hospital to get Beverly’s hand checked.

As soon as they arrived at the hospital, Beverly and her mom rushed into the emergency room and sat down in the waiting room. The nurse came up to them and asked them what seemed to be the problem. Beverly’s mother told the nurse that Beverly had been pricked by a poisonous coral.

She held Beverly’s right palm up. It was blue from the poison but red and bloody near the area where Beverly was pricked.

“This has to be taken to the Poison Control Center right away to be checked or else the poison will spread! Come with me.” The nurse showed them to a van that dropped people off at the Poison Control Center. Beverly and her mom climbed on and drove away. As soon as they reached the Center, Beverly gave her mother a worried look.

“Mom, I really do not want my hand chopped off!” Beverly had tears in her eyes. “Oh, no no no!” she sobbed.

“I have got the operation scheduled for five PM on Monday,” Dr. Clark said.

Beverly buried her head in her mother’s lap. No, she thought. I don’t want this to happen. She opened her eyes about an hour or two later and noticed she wasn’t on her mom’s lap anymore. She was on a bed in a room somewhere in the hospital. Her mother and father were sitting on the chairs in the room. Beverly moved a little bit around and noticed that her hand was bandaged and her other hand had an IV in it. There was another nurse asking her mom and dad a few questions. Beverly sat up from the bed and looked at her parents.

“The operation is going to be on Monday, Beverly,” her father said. Beverly’s mom didn’t say anything at all. She had her head down and looked like she was crying.

About three weeks later, Beverly sat on the chair facing out to the beach, resting her metal hand on the arm rest. She saw other kids surfing and felt an urge to get up and do the same. That was when she realized something. Just because she had no hand, it didn’t mean that it would stop her from doing something that she wanted to do and had been doing ever since she was four years old. Beverly stood up carefully and went inside to tell her mom that she was determined and was still going to surf.

“Mom, I am going to go surfing, and I am not scared anymore. I will never let anything stop me,” Beverly said strongly.

“I always knew you were a surfer with a big heart.”Beverly smiled back and headed out the door.

The LibraryBy: Vidisha Jha

A magical realm of books,Read in crannies and nooks;

The best plan of action,Addictive chain reaction.

Stories of the shelves,Magical beasts and elves;Dragons, goblins, knights,

Sci-Fi, glowing lights.

Mythologies, chronologies,Biographies, psychologies;

Title upon title,There’s one on a recital.

I spend hours hereThe world could disappear;If reading is not your thing,

Go and try to sing. >.<

F.O.O.D(Fundamental. Occasional.

Obsessive. Dreams.)By: Malhar Khandare

Food is a pleasure,There are appetizers and meals,

You can eat chicken, turkey,Octopus and eels.

If you feel hungry,You can go to Subway,

But if the food is out of stock,I don’t know what to say.

Grab your utensils,And grab a plate,Eat your lunch,

But don’t be late.

Chew with your teeth,As the saliva helps out,

But don’t choke on your food,Or you’ll begin to shout.

Food is so good,It is full of stuff,

But overall,I like cheese puffs.

Why do eat?To get our stomachs filled,

Because if we don’t eat,We’ll get killed.

SmileBy: Priyan Selvakumar

Each language is diverseInnumerable differences set them apartBut a single similar gesture pulls them togetherIts greatest and the bestIt’s the smileFrom the sophisticated to the ferine, the smile is commonFar before mastering speech, the baby masters smilingFar after they lose speech, the old continue to smileFrom dawn to duskFrom birth to deathWe always have the ability to smileWe smile to express the one feeling the words cannot capture, elationIt is the simplest feeling, the core feelingIt is the First Feeling, and the most rewarding oneSorrows are mere islands in the sea of joyAnd to express this royal emotion we smileFar before our ancestors learned to grunt they smiledTo smile is to liveTo do what every single being before you has done and everyone after you will doTo speak a word spoken in every languageTo perform the greatest and the immortal artAnd know that whatever changes smiling will not

Late for ClassBy: Vedika DayalPass time is nearly over,

People rush to their next class,But not me, I’m just standing there,

Wishing for a late pass.

There’s no way I’ll find my homework,In this jumbled up mess,

I see some paper that’s been scribbled on,It has my friend’s address.

I see a half-eaten sandwich,With jelly inside,

A glittery green pencil,And an old study guide.

I spot my homework,But it’s too late,

My shoulders sink,Oh, but wait!

In this hullaballoo,A piece of paper sticks out,

It has no date on it,Just a signature from Ms. Sprout.

My face lights up,God has sent me a late pass,

I scribble the date on it,And skip to Ms. Doherty’s class.

Oh Dearest SisterBy: Amanda Cooney

Oh dearest sisterWhy have you locked me away?

Am I not right to take some of your glory?Why is it they love you and resent me?

Oh dearest sisterI work just as hard

To raise the moon for my lovely nightAs you raise the sun for your early mornings

Oh dearest sisterWhy can’t you see they only hate me?

They sleep through my hard workAnd frolic throughout your sunny day

Oh dearest sisterFor my time will come

When all is perfect for not you but meMy moon is not the lesser light

Oh dearest sisterI shall be the one to act

They do not adore me like youI guess it is not my right

Oh dearest sisterIf they don’t love me, they will fear me

I shall become the nightmare that haunts them

Maybe then they will show me the respect I deserve

Oh dearest sisterYou had your change

To stop my attempts for love

Why could you not see my misery?

Oh dearest sister

The world is cast in eternal darknessNever will your sun shine upon the heavens

But why don’t they love me yet?

Oh dearest sisterMy attempts may have failed

But I shall returnAnd earn their love

Oh dearest sisterWas I truly the evil one?

You did nothing as I yearned for their loveNobody gave me the love I deserved

Not even you…

Deep in the MeadowBy: Aarushi Parikh

Deep in the meadow,Where the daisies lie,

There where the bees roam and fly,There where the stream tinkles alive,

Two clamors of laughter arise,Footsteps echo and splash in the water,

The voices become louder but never falter,So deep in the meadow,

Where the petunias grow,Beware of two angels,Prancing side by side

SunsetsBy: William Wu

What are sunsets?Well, apparently, they’re the sun shining and reflecting on atmospheric dust, blah,blah, blah, diddle, diddle-le-day, and so

forthBut what truly does a sunset mean?

That moment when the sun so barely skims the tops of the foothills?

What are the reds and the purples that light up the sky?

Some think art or religion,Some think beauty, rainbows, and possibly

pancakes.But for me, it’s the all-important, all-

important symbol that I’m hungry and it istime to eat.

First TimesBy: Abhishek Taruvai

A first time is an experienceYou can never have another first time

Whether it’s winning or losingSleeping or snoozing

Or even doing a crime!

You should always cherish first timesThey will never happen twice

Don’t ever be glumThis time it’s number one

The experience will always be nice!

Don’t be ashamed that it’s your first timeBe proud, you’re going to try it.

This will only happen once.Don’t think that you’re a dunceThis is a first time, and this is it.

JealousyBy: Aarushi Parikh

The monster inside me purrs in jealousyIt’s silly, for I should be all pleasantries

I know that she’ll always have more than meLike better clothes and beach houses by the shore

But just because she’s my best friend,My long lost sister, the one I’ve befriended,

Do I restrict myself from being human?She’s bragging abnormally, her words entering

And residing in my like a numen.However, as she turns her glowing face towards me,

Beaming with mild pride and glee,I feel guilty for all my negative thoughts.My stomach twists unpleasantly in knots.I grin truthfully, relieving my conscience,I regret thinking my friend was obnoxious

I agree with what ever statement had exclaimed,Promising Inwardly that I had felt ashamed.

Thank you to all those who submitted to our magazine!

Our team of editors carefully selected the best pieces to showcase. Congratulations to all our winners!

Please send all submissions for our Spring 2013 issue to:knightsnotebook@gmail.com (we prefer this!)

OR Ms. Doherty’s mailbox in the front office

Include your name, HR section, and title of your submission