#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.