Why the panic?! Where’s the fire?!
Haste leads to consequences dire!
Consider carefully all the options
Before bringing a plan to fruition.
It could be deciding what to wear
Or going for a drive somewhere.
With impatience, you may forget
Important things, and then regret.
For, hurrying blinds the mind’s eye –
And is a waste of your precious time.

“It’s thirty minutes into the examination.”
So went the invigilator’s announcement.
In the silent room, her voice reverberated.
Grabbing the attention of all the students.

The only sound that followed thereafter
Was the scribbling of pens on the papers,
Intermittently punctuated by the rustles
Of notes laden pages being turned over.

And this was the case for all except one.
He, too, sat with his head lowered down.
Except that his answer sheet was blank,
And he was thirty minutes into the exam.

He was staring at the empty white paper –
Beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
It was at that moment that he could hear,
“Read it again, you’ve studied this before.”

“Read it,” coaxed the page that was blank.
“You know the solution to the question.”
With renewed hope, he reread the query.
In his mind, the answers started forming.

Soon the pages were not blank anymore.
He passed the exam with a decent score.
For truth be told, my dear friends,
A blank page is never ever silent.

In the secret garden of my mind,
There are blue skies and sunshine.
Flowers bloom in myriad colors.
Birdsongs echo in the lush bowers,
Ushering hope and good tidings.
With the blessing of eternal Spring.

O Postcard! I miss you so!
With pictures full of colors and life
And little handwritten notes,
You captured moments in time.

You no longer arrive at the door.
No longer do people want to write.
It’s the age of IM and do you know?
Emojis and texting rule, but IDKY.

With you, words would often flow
Thoughtfully penned line by line.
Little bits of the heart and soul
That kept relationships alive.

Even the beautiful photos spoke
Of visits to people and places nice.
Invitations, news, updates, and more,
To send a postcard was just fine.

Now you are just a memory
Of the lives of people long forgotten,
Kept in museums for all to see.

Or locked in a chest in the attic.
Sometimes, sold as a collector’s item
Inspiring poetry and stories.

Puppets – that’s what we are
On the largest stage in the world.
We think we hold the controls,
But the truth couldn’t be farther.

We all need to play our parts
In our many assigned roles.
The stage is grander than we know.
We have to be masters of our arts.

The strings holding us together,
The acts that steal the show,
The stories that ebb and flow,
Are all by the Master Puppeteer.

We are all cosmic performers
On a stage that grows and grows,
We will continue until our last hour –
Till the time the curtain falls.

Once upon a moonlit night,
When the breeze was cool
And the stars were bright,
Up, I flung a line and hook.
I caught a comet buzzing by.
I zipped past the silver moon.
She winked at me with a smile.
I went on into the dark blue
Flanked by twinkling fireflies.
I met the magical fairies, too,
With glowing unicorns as rides.
They gifted me a pair of shoes
To skip across the midnight sky.
They played a song on the lute
And bid me stop and sing awhile.
We danced to the beat of the tune
And ate our fill of moon pies.
Till I heard a bird sing, “Cuckoo.”
It called out to me many times.
I rubbed my eyes, and then, I looked
At the wall-clock as it struck five.
O ’twas but a dream so beautiful.
A journey that was entirely mine.
A dream like a tiny drop of dew –
One I’d remember for a long time.

‘Tis not the roses, but the thorns in our path
That turn us into warriors by making us strong.
If you just think about it, you would understand,
There would be no heroes without the villains.

Fairy tales wouldn’t have happy endings without the evil witches.
We wouldn’t know success if the challenges never existed.
Yes, it’s all about the way life creates a balance
To mould us all into various versions of perfection.

The thorns in our path are actually blessings.
Without them life would be endlessly boring.
There would be no wishes or prayers.
There would be no heaven or hell.

The thorns in our path may hurt or make us bleed,
But we need to accept them wholeheartedly.
Only then would we search for ways to tackle them.
Only then would we make progress in our lives again.

Sometimes it becomes difficult
To put the past in perspective.
Then, consider the butterflies
Beautiful as they fly and alight.
Does their past matter presently,
Or is it a milestone in the journey?

If we wanted an answer to a query
Related to science or even fairies,
We’d search for that in a book,
Or the Internet is where we’d look.
The past is just such a reference
It holds our entire life experience.

We can always refer to its pages
For solutions in our life’s stages.
This is how we all learn and grow
It is the best teacher we’ll know.
Yes, the present is where we live
With the cues that the past gives.

There are two sides of every coin. Similarly, there can be two ways to perceive oneself. You can either look at the glass as being half empty or half full. Here is a poem that attempts to do both. So which one is you?

Please note – this is a reverse poem, so read it both ways – from top to bottom and from bottom to top.

This is who I am.
I want to define myself.
As I gaze at my reflection
I see someone who has tried
And lost all heart and hope.
I don’t see a person who fought
To win against difficulties.
I see someone who could do all
To run away from life’s pitfalls.
I don’t see a person who wants
To achieve every dream.
I think I could put in my efforts
To face this truth about myself.
As I gaze at my reflection
I want to define myself.
This is who I am.

Storms reveal
the power to heal.
The moment of birth,
the moment of death,
the events between
are all stormy.

Storms create
the strength to adapt.
All of life’s changes,
the resistance and plunges,
that define and redefine,
are all stormy.

Storms reveal
the ability to resile.
All the challenges
that shake or break,
leading to a rebounding,
are all stormy.

From every storm
arises a new form.
It’s a chance to clean
the slate and start again
with endless possibilities
and probabilities.

Much has been written about dreams.
Much that could fill papers and reams –
They are messages from the universe
sent to the dreamer for better or worse.

They are thoughts that are imaginary,
Images and sensations, all involuntary.
But I want to dream the dream less dreamed –
A dream in which I’m someone else’s dream.

I want to be the hand that offers help.
I want to be the guiding voice that tells.
I want to be the map for the directionless.
I want to be the light in their darkness.

Yes, fairies and unicorns have their magic.
But wouldn’t you all agree when I say this –
The world would be a much better place
If the dream I dream came true every day.