life lessons and other people's poems

Rage at the dying lights,

But do not loathe the ravens in the night.

Why be scared by which road to take,

Or fret about future and fate.

No goblin or ghoul can sway a resolute soul,

From the market or from their goal.

Treat others with acute consideration,

Then there is no need for a curse for a nation.

For hope is no fragile bird,

Out against the vicious world.

It is an eagle, ring'd with clouds,

That can withstand an onslaught of doubts

Do not fear the captain dying,

Consider it time to seek new things

Do not stand to watch a dream deferred,

Or idly sit by when witnessing the tables turned.

Now no poison tree should grow in a human heart,

No face is should be half sunk, a shattered visage.

Life is not riddled with “ifs”,

If conscientiousness becomes a decision.

the omniscience of Words

Words are born from the feelings,
in every human's heart.
They are the only things,
that tear this world apart.

Words are born from anger,
at the injustice in life.
They are used by some,
to vent their strife.

Words are born from sorrow,
at what could have been.
They are used by some,
to destroy others' dreams.

Words are born from envy,
at other's abilities.
They are used by some,
to create insecurities.

Words are born from rage,
at one's inabilities.
They are used by some,
To make others doubt their worth.

Words are born from hate,
at the wrongs long-suffered.
They are used by some,
to force that pain on others.

Words are made from fear,
at losing what one loves.
They are used by some,
to hold others down.

Words are made from the darkness,
that dwells in most beings.
They are twisted by some,
to mean terrible things.

But words can be made from hope,
for the future that lies ahead.
They can be used by many,
to support and sustain, as well.

Words can be made from a love,
towards the rest of humanity.
They can be used by many,
to foster empathy.

Words can be made from the courage,
of those who never surrender the peaceful fight.
They can be used by many,
to set the world's problems to right.

Words can be used to cause pain and prejudice,
and create grief and rue.
But they can be used to heal and help,
and preserve the memories of the good we do.

Boredom

Boredom is a social construction.
It indicates a lack of inspiration,
And the absence of innovation,
As the bored are unable to use information,
To satisfy their dissatisfaction,
With the available recreation,
By utilizing their imagination.

What good is an expensive education,
That grooms grace and instills sophistication,
If those who get it lack the disposition,
And the drive or inclination,
To come to the realization,
That success is not gained through affectation
Or the use of shoddy pretension,
That does not happen to fool anyone.

They buy up the qualifications,
Pay up for the certifications,
Pick their way through examinations,
Then sit in some big corporations,
Devoid of the motivations,
Or the dedications
Required to exceed limitations,
And proceed to stay in the same position.

Having abandoned all aspirations,
Unable to engage in celebrations,
Trapped by the lack of options,
Feeling nought but irritations,
Wishing for a vindication,
A way to pursue one's vocation,
Yearning for variation,
Longing for liberation,
Eventually fading into oblivion.

So before your life reaches its culmination,
With your faculties past expiration,
And you find yourself on a permanent vacation,
Work to resolve your frustration,
By achieving the reclamation,
And facilitating the careful cultivation,
Of your zeal and determination,
To go on every exploration,
Bring into reality every creation,
And feel content with your exaltation,
At improving your own situation.

~Aaradhana N.

Some People

Sometimes it is hard to see the good,

When actions and intentions are misunderstood,

And everywhere we seem to look,

Someone is acting violent or cruel.

Some people find it difficult to respect their identity,

They find it easier to hide what makes them extraordinary,

Even at the cost of undermining their personality.

Some people find it difficult to understand others,

They find it easier to make them outsiders,

Even at the cost of ignorance about other cultures.

Some people find it difficult to accept the truth,

They find it easier to behave crude and rude,

Even at the cost of treating others in a manner most uncouth.

Some people find it difficult to rethink their dogmas,

They find it easier to ignore the flaws,

Even at the cost of independent thought.

Some people find it difficult to value diversity,

They find it easier to live without empathy,

Even at the cost of their compassion and humanity.

Some people find it difficult to deal with this,

They find this rampant uncommunicativeness,

To be unquestionably, undeniably, utterly stupid,

Feeling that instead, people should just listen,

To the ideas of their fellow humans,

And either learn or debate with them,

In order to reach a consensual conclusion,

To all the problems we are faced with,

Without depriving others of compassion,

Being courteous in all provocations and situations.

And therefore, as a means of expression,

They sit down and pen lengthy poems,

To try and get other people to quit their pretensions,

And hold civilized, intelligent conversations!

~Aaradhana N.

To all wonderful weirdos.....

Apparently, there is a holiday for this!

To all the other odd ones,

The misfits and anyone,

Who is not like everyone.

To all those who prefer dogeared books,

And quiet, sunlit library nooks,

To about the way it looks,

And deeming TV something to forsook.

To all those with a wicked sense of humor,

Whom others cannot comprehend,

But manage to enthuse every room they are in,

With their sharp wit and joking intent.

To all those with a passion for sport,

Who get up every day with no other hope,

Than to become one of the professionals,

Even though others may not offer much support.

To all those who live for music,

Whether digital, electric or acoustic,

Who express themselves with instruments,

And find in song the greatest stimulant.

To all those with a love of logic,

Who enjoy any puzzle worth solving,

And regardless of others constant mocking,

Manage to become class valedictorian.

To those who while their hours,

Locked behind bedroom doors,

Holding gaming consoles,

Playing for all their worth.

To those who watch others,

From the outskirts,

because they are different,

And therefore deemed “weird”

To all the wonderful weirdos,

Who ever read this blog post,

You should probably know,

That September 8^th honors all those,

Who have bottle-thick glasses from reading,

Who have ink-stained palms from writing

Who have stiff limbs from all types of dancing,

Who have hoarse throats from a love of singing,

Who have calloused fingers from instrument playing,

Who have numb thumbs from video gaming,

Who have aching bodies from athletics training,

Who have rough hands from long gardening,

Who have sore brains from problem solving,

Who have pained wrists from computer coding,

Who have broken hearts from others teasing,

Who have a world of ideas from dreaming,

To every fanboy and fangirl,

Who ever walked on this world,

Regardless of those who jeered and sneered

Celebrate the very reasons, others call you “weird”.

Night Sounds

The silver sound is carried through the night,

Gliding on the wisps of wind,

That brush against the windowsill,

And whisper softly into the waiting ears,

Of those who seek something greater still.

It visits while the recipient,

Lays in bed, fast asleep,

Caught in the throes of nocturnal fancies,

And nudges the edges of their consciousness,

Telling them that some hopes should be believed.

It is in the sounds of the crickets symphony,

And the thrum of cars on the street,

And the owl's long hoots in the dark

And the patter of stray water drops,

Reminding us that nothing is beyond our reach,

If we choose to keep our dreams

Thorn in my side

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Read on ahead,
If you know what is good for you.

Daisies are white,
Buttercups are yellow,
Time flies,
And feelings mellow.

Peonies are pink,
Ferns are green,
Here is what I think,
You are dead to me.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Dear X,
We are through.

(My first attempt at a snarky poem.)

Cake

A symbol of celebration,
Part of the culture of every nation,
A symbol of class and station,
Part of every festive occasion.

The paragon of all things sweet,
A staple whether on land and sea,
The paragon of a decadent treat,
A staple whether grand or petite.

Karpatka, Kladdaka, and Roulade,

Marble, Crumble and Lemon

Povitica, Cassata and Croquenbouche,

Black Forest, Red Velvet and Chiffon.

Banana, Babka and Sachertorte,

Chocolate, Coconut and Bouchon,

Vanilla, Madeira and Panforte,

Suncake, Mooncake, and Panettone.

Everywhere on the surface of the planet,

In every village, town and hamlet,

Everywhere oven fires glow lambent,

In the spread at every banquet.

The most varied confection yet to date,

The snack almost anyone can partake,

The taste to which everyone can relate,

The world is, quite obviously, united by cake!

Teacher

A teacher is a person,
Who is always on your case,
Just waiting and watching,
To berate every mistake.

They are also people,
Who quite obviously thrive,
On harping after their pupils,
Both day and night.

They are people,
From who no student is safe,
One single misplaced assignment,
Is all it takes.

Then wrath of assorted kinds,
Is heaped upon the unfortunate's head,
A barrage of shouts and reprimands,
Until they cannot sleep, for quivering in bed.

But they are the people
Who do not seem to exist beyond school walls,
For they seem to know too many things,
And have seen it all.

But if there is one thing,
One sees across the subjects,
It is that there are positives,
Balancing all the negatives.

A teacher is also a person,
With a very special purpose,
To instill knowledge,
And enhance young intelligence.

They are also people,
Who hold a heartfelt passion,
For passing their wisdom,
To a future generations.

They are people who persevere,
Through the years and ages,
They have a command of technology,
And are usually current with such changes.

So.....
Even if the students tax them,
And cause them so much strife,
Teachers should probably know,
That they are an integral part of our lives.

They hold a place in our hearts,
Despite the tribulations in class,
Because, without them,
Very few children would pass.

And many students believe,
For though they do not show it openly,
Behind the irregularities and the idiosyncrasies,
Students really think of their teachers quite highly.

So, take the time to say,
That we are thankful for what they do,
And despite all the trials,
We students honestly appreciate you.

(In India, there is a holiday called Teacher's Day that is celebrated every September 5th. In honor of some of my favorite teachers, I composed the following poem last night.

To all my teachers, past and present :  Happy Teacher's Day!!!:)

~Aaradhana N

A Secret.

Shall I tell you a secret?

It is a very disturbing one.

Can I trust you to hold on to it,

and reveal it to no one?

Shall I tell you a secret?

Promise not to tell.

Can I trust that my trust in you,

is something you will not sell?

Shall I tell you a secret?

For it is ever so big.

Can I believe that if I share it,

it will stay hidden?

Shall I tell you a secret?

Please tell me you will not laugh.

Can I trust you to take me at my word,

and not go prying anywhere?

Shall I tell you my secret?

I have kept it for so long.

So here is my secret:

I often think in song!

(This one was inspired by Dr. Seuss, to some extent.)

Define Peace......

What humanity craves,

Through the passing of the days,

Is shattered by the incessant crusades,

And never long to stay.

Affection and cooperation,

Friendship and collaboration

All humans helping another,

Facilitates reconciliation.

Decreasing disparity,

Instilling equality of opportunity,

Demonstrating diversity,

Inspiring understanding and empathy.

An end to the plague of cruelty!

Ceasing mindless agony!

An end to avarice and acrimony!

Subsequently, free

~Aaradhana Natarajan

Windows

Setting sun,
Rising moon,
The windows shuttered,
The world slumbers.

Beyond the window,
Stars shine bright,
Radiant diamonds,
In the night.

Beyond the window,
A forest green,
Brims with secrets,
As of yet unseen.

Beyond the window,
Lie distant lands,
Filled with wonders,
Beyond the reach of my hands.

Beyond the window,
A river flows,
The shimmering water,
Dotted with fishing boats.

Beyond the window,
Lay mountains pristine,
Forbiddingly cold,
Though they brilliantly gleam

Beyond the window,
Dwell creatures unknown,
Piercing the air,
With inhuman moans.

Beyond the window,
Are adventures to be had,
Battles to be fought,
And multiple paths

But beyond the window,
Is also where realities wait,
Subduing whatever,
Dreaming minds can create

Beyond the window,
Is where hopes wait,
Falling and fading,
As the nights turn to day.

Beyond the window,
Is where dreams wait,
With the window pane as,
As imagination's gate.

Yet beyond the window,
Is where possibilities wait,
For those dreamers,
Who give their visions weight.

Setting Moon,
Rising Sun,
Windows are opened,
Journeys are begun.

~Aaradhana N.

Library Books

Slipping through oaken doors,

into another world,

Where dust motes dance in sunlight,

and tales lay waiting to be told.

Laying on the faded carpet,

a teetering stack to the right,

Entering a realm of words,

leaving mundane problems outside.

Escaping to a distant land,

of magic, mystery or misadventure,

Or with the turn of a page,

discovering long-forgotten treasure.

Travelling beyond the rush and crush,

behind paper thin walls,

Seated silently still,

While reality stalls.

~Aaradhana N.

Introduction

Hello readers.
I am a 16 year-old studying in an IB school (International Baccalaureate). As part of this course, I have decided to start a poetry blog for one of my CAS projects (Creativity, Action, Service).
My interest in writing began some years ago and I have been filling up notebooks with all sorts of poetry, from couplets to concretes. Until recently, I was quite skeptical about sharing my poetry, because some of it was derived from the more negative experiences in my life. However, there are also plenty of positive pieces! In conclusion, I really do have a love for the written word and I want to show my work to others. And what better format than a blog?
I hope you enjoy reading the posts!

Sincerely,
Aaradhana N