#18: You're a star!

It was a beautiful light-show
That we saw, when you were born.

Your mother looked at you and thought,
"This will be brighter than the brightest morn."

You began to grow, living your life
With a lot of love and care,

Though sometimes with glitches (as is natural),
Which made you act like you shouldn't have dared.

But know, sweet, little star,
That it is all right,

For stars to face phases, and
Be dull rather than being bright.

Stars may stray their paths,
They might sometimes oscillate,

But not necessarily only when they're out of shape and order,
Also when other stars and particles lead them to deviate.

You must know, sweet, little star,
That these phases can be short or long,

They can vary in intensity too,
But you can always turn it into a song (even a sad one).

You must also know, that you have responsibilities
From which you must never escape,

For they will ensure your energy and power
Are never put to waste.

If you ever feel, the other stars in the constellation,
Are picking and prodding, and you don't like the touch,

Know that it is because they won't see you troubled,
In any way in the future, because they love you too much.

Have you seen how their eyes shine,
With love and assurance when they see you?

Even if you're just one, and think yourself unimportant,
Know that this constellation would not be one without you.

A created, special star. :)
PS- Please don't copy this picture.

***

Yay! This completes my NaPoWriMo, a whole month of poem-making. Apart from the obvious realization (how it was wonderful to write them), I found out how time flies! It seems like I accepted this friend's challenge for poetry only last week or so.

Frankly though, it was fun, and it was rewarding. For a person who had been craving to write something but couldn't, this served the purpose, and it also made me happy. I didn't really stick to the plan: I don't have thirty poems, but I'm oh-so-happy with whatever I managed to write. :D Perhaps some day when I'm bored or inspired, I will end up writing and posting another poem. ^_^

As to the challenge, I declare both of us as winners. I wrote magnificently on some days, while the competitor did so too. Some days we both messed up. In the end, we did put an effort, and that makes us winners. :D YAY!

#17: No regrets?

What does it mean,
To live life with no regrets?

Is it, to do all the things you think of doing, or think you want to do,
Making someone who doesn't have your spirit
(but is just as human and normal),
Feel spiritless, and think the idea radical?

Is it, to show the others, that you have done
All you could; you have made mistakes
You're proud of... So what if someone else
Has been hurt? An action you think you won't regret
Is all it takes.

But tell me, wouldn't it be terrifying to live through,
Each thing you thought you wanted to do,
In the name of 'no regrets'?

Tell me, what exactly would you accomplish?
A sense of liberation from 'what-ifs', you say,
And I understand that. I would feel it too.
I would want to feel it.

But tell me, do you ever consider if you would really
Feel not regretful? Are you sure you wouldn't? For anything at all?
Wouldn't you, maybe, think, "I tried... but perhaps I shouldn't have"?

I would. Even though I would want to do certain things,
Some that I crave for, some that make me look cool, while some on whims, 
I would if I know it wouldn't hurt, 
I would if it would make someone (especially me) happy,
I would do everything thinking it would always be a lesson,

Still, I would not do most of them in the name of 'no regrets'.
I would first make sure I understand all that's at stake.
 
Because even if I don't regret, I would feel awful because of their consequence(s),
And living happily is more important than no regrets,
And no, they are sometimes, for some people, not mutually exhaustive.
If you want to live a life of no regrets, first prepare yourself for it.

Not to sound mean, but what if you drown?
You would first analyse the risks, right? Great. Go ahead! :D
Pic src: felixcastroblog.com

*** 

These days I look forward to writing something for the day, and most often it is a random thought, among the many, that gets picked up just as randomly as it came. Somewhat bored at work, I doodled 'no regrets' in my notepad, and I have no idea where it came from. Then in the next few minutes, draft 1 of this piece above was born, converted into draft 2 during the next boredom break!

I'm not sure if I can call these pieces poems anymore. Weren't they all supposed to rhyme at least somewhere? I'm currently reading a book on poetry called No Matter The Wreckage by Sarah Kay, and I suppose my subconscious is pretty much influenced! It doesn't take into account whether or not I'm liking the writing style. 

#16: Food

Some days, food is only a word,
A thing, to be had in between
Breaks from working round the clock.
It has a time, it is a fixture.

Some days you don't notice,
If your food is a solo item, or a mixture,
Of a vegetable, a bunch of leaves, some spices,
Roots, perhaps also a martyred creature, and a couple of seeds.

Some days you don't see,
When you spend your hundreds when hungry,
What exactly you put inside you. Do you taste the bread,
The sauces, the crisp nuggets, the stir-fried veges?

Some days when you wrinkle your nose,
Over the food prepared, and eat disgruntled,
Don't you feel the softness or the rawness,
The naturalness of food made with lesser condiments?

Do you feel the subtle flavours, and the textures,
And the sharpness in their tastes? Do you see how
Food is a marvel to be had with mindfulness,
And how lucky you have been, to have food at all? 

#15: The Cookie and The Bun

Once upon a time,
There was a cookie.

It was round;
It added choco chips to itself,
And became rounder still.

It was very sweet,
It looked inviting and nice,
So everyone wanted to have it.
The cookie liked all the praise and attention.

It was also quite curious,
Sometimes to the point of annoyance
To the other sweets. The cookie would
Roam around and talk to everyone, for it
Wanted to find out how it could become ever sweeter.

One day, it came across a sweet
That didn't look like one. It was more like
A hot-cross bun. Cross and hot with anger,
At having been over-tossed, nursing its burnt portion
With something like vehemence. It had few friends.
The cookie realized it rather liked this not-so-sweet sweet.

It went on to befriend it. The cookie approached the bun,
Which saw the sweet cookie with suspicion. No, the bun knew
It meant no harm, but the bun was not ready to disclose itself to anyone.
The cookie saw over the bun's burnt surface, it listened when the bun spoke,
Which was rare. Days passed; the cookie stayed with the bun longer and longer,
The bun talked more, did more, smiled more, and felt itself getting stronger.
Some days it forgot about its burns. It began to understand what a sweet could be, and what it must be.

The other sweets stared, some with surprise, some with envy,
But the bun cared not, it was feeling very happy.
With the cookie's friendship, it began to see, the world with
Wonder and curiosity. It saw that other sweets are different, each
With its own ability. It learned to take off its burnt parts, bit by bit,
Striving to ooze out its inner sweetness to the outer crust as much as possible.
The bun did not forget the cookie. It was grateful, and responded with utmost loyalty.
The cookie smiled as it looked at what had once seemed hot and cross--it was a rather sweet bun.

The sweet cookie

***

I guess the ending does look like an ending, so I won't stretch it. I originally thought I'd make a hungry human eat them both. I guess my subconscious likes happy endings!

A question for readers: Who do you think this story is about? The bun or the cookie? Let it be fun to think of either of the two. "Both" would be a common answer.

#14: City Birds

City birds were not always city birds, we made them so,
Creating trees and jungles of concrete and wires, leaving them nowhere to go.

City birds then, began hovering over these, in search of food and shelter, 
Because fruits and seeds and insects in abundance, they did not get to eat.

City birds sing songs purer than any,
Lay eggs precious, rare, and a curiosity.

City birds know not where to fly--high or low,
They may die entangled in a tower crane or a wire mesh down below.

City birds are sought by the heartbroken, the nature-hungry,
Photographers, lovers; they are of a species endangered, but we think them as free.

City birds create that heart-warming, uplifting melody,
Sometimes in the early morning hours, heard by ones who are lucky.

City birds get fewer in number, when once we saw them in many colours,
Now we find mostly blacks and greys, and very rarely a red, blue, yellow blur. 

City birds were not always city birds,
Once, they were simply, exclusively, just birds.

A rare city bird. I was really lucky to spot one.

***

Ta-da! Not a very flattering poem. You know, I'm really enjoying this NaPoWriMo. Not only do I look forward to the poem of the day, but when and after I write, I know whether what I have written is a good poem or a not-so-good poem. Or whether what I've written is a poem at all. These days, though, anything that's written in such stanzas is easily tagged as a poem, so I don't mind tagging mine along, but still. Yet, sometimes it is a complete surprise. What I had thought to be an okay poem turns out to be more liked and read. What do you think?

Read my previous NaPoWriMo poems here: 

#13: The Unseated
#12: Acrostic
#11: Step-by-step
#10: Inside a mind
#9: Lucky Thirteen
#8: A lover of skies
#7: Things I like...
#6: A beautiful forever
#5: I choose...
#4: Night dreamer
#3: Exhaustion
#2: Forsaken soul

#13: The Unseated

So thoroughly is the idea of competition,
Ingrained in our minds, 
That being one of the few unseated,
In a train, is a loss of a kind.

Like you haven't been quick enough,
Or clever enough, or lucky enough to sit,
In an emptying coach when others get seated, 
You're left wondering if you haven't done your bit.

For you feel uneasy, and your breaths come sharp,
Because you're the standing spectacle, 
To be glanced, or stared at, 
As if you're a curious creature bearing tentacles.

You try to soothe your mind, 
You take deep breaths,
You fish out a book or your phone,
To type in a poem of such breadth.

For whenever a seat was emptied,
An instinctive gesture you displayed,
Of making a move towards it, before it was
Taken by a quicker, cleverer, luckier person instead.

Standing in the metro

***

Read my earlier NaPoWriMo poems.

#2: Forsaken soul

#3: Exhaustion

#4: Night dreamer

#5: I choose...
#6: A beautiful forever
#7: Things I like...
#8: A lover of skies
#9: Lucky Thirteen
#10: Inside a mind
#11: Step-by-step
#12: Acrostic

#12: Acrostic

Little by little
Over highs and many lows, like
Violet daffodils and a blue rose
Emerged someone I didn't know, nor
Did you, my dears. For it was

One, born from having borne a
Number of hurts and fears.
Every time you assumed
She wouldn't mind staying behind,

Having her belligerent requests,
Upturned a thousand times.
Raging silently, she goes on,
Thunder brewing inside her.

Till the time you act so
Hideous, it hurts to look at your face, but still you
End up cursing and blaming her,

Moments after she strikes back unafraid.
Over reasoning and fairness you can ride,
Still she would be right, because
Though you are unapologetic for your words, she knows it is only your ego and pride.

***

An acrostic is a form of poem where (usually) the first letter of each line together spells out a word or a message. Go figure. And tell me if I'm wrong here.
 

#11: Step-by-step

When there's something that you want,
And it sits out of reach, high on top,
Don't dismay, don't give up hope,
Don't settle lower, don't crave distractions to help you cope.

Instead:
Open your eyes and look around,
Who is on the stairs, and who else is on the ground,
Who makes you feel, life is worthless and boring,
Who makes you wish, to spend time in working.

Wriggle out from the clutches, of those who pull you down,
Stretch out your hand for help, from those you see on the stairs,
For they often will take it, and pull you,
One step away from the evil snares.

Oh, how sweet the air blows,
Even a little higher from the ground,
You already feel lighter, and inspired,
To work and do your best, and you never get tired.

For you soon realize, you only need to be,
On step one, then afraid you won't be.

Each step feels awesome.

You will only be eager, and optimistic,

And humble and creative,
You will get the will-power and energy, 
Let ill-will come, you know you could beat it.

There will be trials, there will be anxieties,
You will be tested, with utmost severity.
But something will have changed, you'll see,
Even though it is sour, you'll find it sweet.

Before you know, time will pass,
You'll see a different you, when you look into the glass.
Grinning back at you would be, your dream self,
Happy, peaceful, now ready to extend a hand for someone else's help.

And this is how you would climb,
The stairs to reach your dreams,
You'll know you need only to take the first step,
And the world will hush itself and see.

# 10: Inside a mind

You wouldn't know, when you've lived, 
A thousand times, inside a mind.

Inside that mind, you are cherished, for the beauty of your eyes,
And the beauty of your smile, for the grace of your style, for how you can walk for miles.

Inside that mind, your heart is of gold, your words full of wisdom,
And your deeds full of love; you are worthy of ruling a kingdom.

Inside that mind, your work is pure, your will-power is inspiring,
And your thoughts are those, that could relieve the world, suffering.

That mind is the one, inside which your cares and trials, are seen as personal enemies,
They have not just you, but the mind's owner, to fight them and bring them to their knees.

For this is how beautifully you live inside a mind,
Not just once, but perhaps a thousand times.
Don't you wish you could realize,
You could live outside, just as you live inside a mind? 

Why don't you let light fall all over you?

# 9: Lucky Thirteen

A day considered unlucky by many, I wondered why it was so,
The sweetest person I knew, was born on this day many years ago.

When you say your prayers, to keep ill-luck at bay,
I think I'm so lucky to have had her, and I think so till this day.

She went away, but her memories stayed,
We said a 'Happy Birthday'; that's all the respect we paid.

But she never forgot us, she keeps her blessings pouring,
A gush of good news and well-being, we have been receiving since morning.

That is when we notice her again, thinking of us from up above,
We smile and we pray, feeling lucky to have the love of a soul fairer than a dove.

A living fragment of a beautiful soul...

***

Thank you, grandma! And a very happy birthday! I'll be going home, praying, and baking you a cake. Thank you for always blessing us! We all love you. 

# 8: A lover of skies

For a lover of skies,

Up above is always a marvel,

Night or day, hot or cold,

With cotton-like clouds or plain smooth as marble.

For a lover of skies,

There’s more than just colour blue,

A lover knows there can be reds and greys,

As well as yellows, all in different hues.

For a lover of skies,

Stars are more than plain constellations,

They’re also dull and shiny, far and close,

Clouds are spidery or fluffy...

Much more than what appears above single nations.

For a lover of skies,

Clouds are not cirrus or cumulous,

They are spidery, or fluffy enough,

To appear as a dragon or a children’s omnibus.

For a lover of skies,

The moon is never waxing or waning,

It is a spotted beauty, to be sought, each night,

In any direction, in any shape, without naming.

The skies have birds and planes and spaceships,

And things unknown that rise,

There’s always more than meets the eye,

For a lover of skies.

Skies have rainbows too...

#7: Things I like...

Many sweet things make my heart flutter,
With happiness, fulfilment, love, and glee,
I feel I couldn't have asked for anything better,
You'll know it too when you see.

Mother's hands; they work all the time,
They hold me with care and love infinite.
Father's voice; it's the resort of the broken heart and mind,
Always cheerful and uplifting, even after a hard daily grind.

Grandmother's soft touch and patience; 
It makes the world go slow,
Brother's ways of care and assurance;
They create a haven to go.

There are more:
The love of a family, the love of true friends,
The ability to work, the comfort of a home, 
The accepted apologies, the chances to make amends, 
The soulful music, the feel of a heavy tome.

The sound of vehicles, gates, footsteps, 
To mark someone's return to home through a mist.
The moments in old photographs and diaries you once kept,
The loved one's gifts, like the bracelet on your wrist.

The childhood drawings, the childhood toys,
The feigning sleep so Father would carry us inside,
The sound of loved ones' laughter, the heartfelt grin of boys,
The reading of prayers and texts as our guide.

All these, and more, make me smile and glow,
For in their essence, and later their memory,
They remind us of what makes humans so,
Hoping these would bring happiness permanently. 

The moments in old photographs...

#6: A beautiful forever

A part of your beautiful forever...

Childhood ends, you see life,
You see your forevers die out.
You wonder, can I ever have a beautiful one?
Your heart whispers yes, the world says no,
So deep in dreams you go.

There you find your favourite forever,
You climb mountains, soar the skies,
Romp over dry leaves, slide in the snow,
Feel what you read, jump and laugh,
Dance in the rain, sing in halves.

You read in sunshine, write what you may,
Watch butterflies, birds, mountains, rivers,
Watch people you love and people you like,
Watch aurora borealis lighting up the sky,
Watch your life feeling peaceful as time goes by.

You learn to live, you live to love,
You love to live again,
You wish to share that beautiful forever, 
With no one but the one you wish to claim,
The one that survived in all the forevers
That, in the world's recklessness, died.

***

Read my previous NaPoWriMo poems here:

#2: Forsaken soul

#3: Exhaustion

#4: Night dreamer

#5: I choose...