We have all heard that when God did create: On our palms, was inscribed our fate. I do believe
We know of the ink on the palms of the writer Felt the sweat shaking hands with the hard worker Seen blood dripping from the fists of our soldiers Heard about the mud and dirt, caked inside the farmers’
The mothers’ palm has tears wiped away from her child’s cheek While the pain of which the fathers’ fingers would never speak Stifled with a single finger – secrets have lived on the sister’s lips With nothing but pride, the brother fights his imaginary ships
The rubber glove’s stench is all that is left on a seasoned surgeon The baker has the feel of flour that comes from his apron The barber owns the soap meant for the one who walks clean-shaven The teacher brushes off the chalk as she walks away from her haven
The mechanic possesses the slick of the oil which does stain The chemicals in the film are the photographer’s frame Salt-water is held long after the fishers return from their domain; And the feel of a loved one, always in memory will remain.
I could go on and on about what we love leaving its mark that is part of our life – our very own creative spark.
We have all heard that when God did create On our palms, was inscribed our fate I do believe that our blueprints may already be in place Yet our place isn’t defined by the lines within a five-finger space
A 270-word poem, and here’s to wishing my blog on its second year alive 🙂 Not exactly its birthday, but actually its birth week. While this post does have many references to stereotypical gender roles, I believe that it is up to each of us to pick our battles and stand for what we believe in. If you believe that your roles and responsibilities aren’t defined by who you are, but rather what you can do, then you live up to the belief that I wanted the poem to express and have mentioned in the last few lines.
Day 4: Theme: Imperfection, Style: Limerick, Device: Enjambment
The truth be said, there is only one who can be a model for perfection. I believe that would be nobody which will be accepted by everybody who is a part of this creation.
Nobody is indeed perfect something that we need to accept. But then what is the meaning of perfection – I find it exasperating that no one can find its value on the market.
How can the value be defined? It is something that can’t be touched with a kiss. Perfection can be defined in different ways: To each their own statement. After all no matter the name, a rose is a rose.
But as I said a few lines ago – isn’t perfection under nobody’s possession? Well, then who is this person? And how is this quality in their arson? Right now I have found an answer to this question.
You and I are the nobodies that the world has seen – we are the perfections that have been present right from the moment of existence to now, where we are our own sustenance.
Be you. Be unique. Be perfect. Be your own king or queen.
Day 3: Theme: Skin, Style: Prose Poetry, Device: Internal Rhyme
The moon felt sad about his bad face and asked the sun to share one of her rays. Soon it grew to be in a new phase And light filled its quiet rocky surface.
The little boy could never smile because he always thought that he was the ugliest person to live. He thought none wanted to be close as he was hideous and unattractive. He had often asked the doctor to help him out, and once the doctor had consented. Exchanging the pills for a wad of cash, to his home in excitement, he did dash.
Yet, the gorgeous moon was far from joyous A dark mark stayed on the Earth, which was mysterious. It projected him into guilt more than he expected and created a plan to work to help the dejected.
On his way he saw the homeless, begging for food and money. But he noticed that they neither had shelter or anything to call cosy. This brought tears to his eyes, as he felt him despise for himself. He chalked up a plan and walked up to the clinic again.
The moon bounced the light to the provinces that were dim So those in the shadow were thankful to him. He felt joy that made him melt, in which he started to swim He knew he should do more according to his prayer hymn.
The boy went back to the clinic and traded his money back for the graded pills. He got back to the sector of the poor and gave out the money, becoming a donor. He found joy, by spreading it. A pleasure he had been unaware of so far. He made the decision to take the action forward as he knew the God of this creation would want him to.
The moon soon disappeared to become new and about where it went no one knew. Till he eclipsed the sun, he did grew and the solar power did cry and raise hue.
The power of the moon was thus made known The sun cowered and was covered by the moon which shone His influence on the earth’s waves and ways are stronger It is the moon that is, to the earth, closer much like the boy who, as a better doctor became renown.
Day 2: Theme: Gift, Style: Acrostic, Device: Simile
Because it is the only way possible to survive Each thought of mine is devoted to her to revive.
Passing on the fluid of life from my body to hers Occasionally stopping, to check if she is better or worse. She’s my only love, just as each day has only one night. I want us together like the two eyes that share the same sight To make sure we are bonded without separation I give her the gift of life, without any deliberation. Venting out my blood to her to save her during her complication Every last bit of my B positive blood is ready for the donation.