Oh, the Sights You’ll See!

Poems
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This is an emulation inspired by Dr. Seuss’ Oh, the Places You’ll Go!

Oh, the sights you’ll see!

You’ll be on your way up!

You’ll be seeing great sights!

You’ll look from the mountains

from big and great heights.

You’ll see some so mighty

and some that are tall,

and wish to join, if but all.

You’ll even soar down

from the heights where you are

just in attempt to be not so small.

 

You’ll follow the gang

and they’ll take the lead,

wherever they go, you’ll go,

wherever they don’t you won’t.

 

But eventually you’ll realize,

I’m sorry to say,

that what you are doing

is just not that wise.

You were blinded by some lies

and it may not come as surprise

that with the time jeopardized,

you have failed to go higher, rise.

 

Then you’ll surely panic,

and when you look around you

the failure’ll seem gigantic.

You’ll worry and be frantic,

but you’ll unslump yourself,

though the slump is oceanic.

 

You’ll leave the gang behind,

no longer will you act so blind,

for the world has been unkind,

but no longer do you mind.

Then you’ll see your mountain

so mighty and so tall

you’ll see there was no need to find

a new state of mind after all.

Delilah

Fiction
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Delilah was thinking about James again. She thought of his calming presence, his brave and caring nature. She thought about how charming he was, about how one glimpse of his smile was enough to comfort her, for just long enough before she was anxious to see him again. She thought of his strong arms and imagined the way he would hold her, with so much love, so much so that all her concerns would just fly away, far away like the birds that migrated before the arrival of the cold season.

Delilah walked over to the window and looked out onto the streets. She had always hated the idyllic, clean appearance of the city, with all its bright lights that shone gloriously at night, the man-made parks where people walked their pesky little dogs. She hated the way people walked so busily past one another, without a care in the world about anyone else. She hated the way the heels of women clicked against the stones, the way the men talked on their phones. This was a place that encouraged her anxious thoughts.

Then she saw someone in the distance, walking calmly while observing the city around him, hands in his pockets. It was James. Delilah anxiously gulped; her head tilted downwards and her eyes landed on her toes peeping through her tan sandals. She fidgeted with the pretty gold bracelet James had given her for her birthday last year, unclasping and re-clasping it. She rarely wore jewellery, but it immediately became a favourite. She had dressed up nicely today, put on her favourite white flowy dress with blue flowers. It was a perfect fit, and the light breezy material danced right above her ankles as the summer wind lightly blew through the windows of the small coffee shop.

She wondered what James had wanted to tell her. It was unlike him to ask her to do such an odd thing, to come to the coffee shop so late in the evening, seven o’ clock to be exact.

She had arrived there at exactly six thirty, with sweaty palms and a pounding heart. A few strands of her hair had stuck to her forehead despite the cool summer evening. Then she found a small, empty table in the back corner and sat there. She sat and waited for half an hour, lost in her own thoughts, clueless to her impending future.

That happened sometimes – Delilah would become so utterly lost in her own thoughts that she would forget to lock the door behind her, or forget her wallet in the car, or leave a beloved sweater behind. Delilah always did that. She always left behind her valuables.

Delilah began to grow concerned as clouds now began hovering above the city, the wind blowing a bit harder now. A few workers began shutting the windows, leaving her feeling claustrophobic. Just then, James walked in through the café door, his soft hair disheveled by the wind. But Delilah couldn’t help but swoon at the way he ran his fingers through the dark strands, trying to fix the mess that sat atop his head. Nonetheless she thought it looked beautiful; she longed to run her own fingers through them.

He was wearing a dark blue denim jacket today. Underneath was a black t-shirt and black jeans. It fit him perfectly. Delilah wondered how James managed to always look so good, regardless of what he wore. Her heart hammered now as she observed his bright brown eyes circulating about the room, looking for her. She forced her eyes off of him, her sight landing in her lap. She began to shake one leg anxiously, then stopped as she remembered her mother’s comments about how a lady would never shake her leg like that.

She jumped slightly as she heard thunder. That’s when James noticed her and began walking towards her table, a fast smile on his handsome face.

“Hi Delilah,” he said, stopping right in front of her, his muscular arm reaching behind him to scratch the back of his head.

“Hi,” Delilah smiled timidly.

James sat down on the chair in front of her, its legs scraping against the floor as he pulled it out from underneath the table. Delilah cringed at the sound.

“Delilah.” James gently took her hands in his, forcing Delilah to look up at him, at his big brown eyes that made her feel like he could see right through her, see all her anxious thoughts, but still be willing to stay. His eyes held hers and for a moment they sat in silence. “Delilah…”

She loved the way he said her name, the way that the lah rolled of his tongue, his soft lips opening as if he could breathe again each time he said it. She looked at him now, and she could see that he was terrified, just like her.

He looked at her with so much sincerity she thought she would faint.

“Delilah, I’m in love with you.”

They looked at each other; one with relief from having said the unspoken, hope now rising in his chest, and the other with sadness, feeling mute, like a small mouse.

He stared at her for what felt like hours, his hands still holding hers, his thumb rubbing circles on her knuckles. Delilah observed him, then took a deep breath. “I’m sorry James,” she began, “but I don’t feel that way about you. I just don’t love you James.”

Just then another loud bang of thunder struck, and Delilah jumped again. James held her hands tightly, feeling the need to protect her – despite what she had just told him.

James looked calm, his emotions unreadable. He stood up, and for a moment Delilah thought he was going to say something by the way he looked at her, the way his eyes bore into her – with so much sincerity and now, love. But he didn’t. James remained silent. And then, his head cast down after one last look at her, James was walking away, out the door, and into the distance.

Then it started to rain.

And Delilah just sat there, she sat there until closing time. She sat there as the raindrops raced down the windows, as the people outside ran for shelter, some carrying newspapers above their heads, others jumping into taxis. A few came into the café, ordering coffee and biscuits, chatting with their friends and coworkers. Delilah sat alone in the back, watching them. When it was finally time to close, when a worker came to her and told her it was time to leave, Delilah got up and walked out the door, dragging her feet as the rain hit her.

Delilah didn’t even think to look back at the forgotten bracelet that lied hopelessly on the table.

Past

Poems
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Her thoughts continued to revisit

the past she left behind

the love she had known

had been so cruel,

so she wanted

more.

 

A dangerous and damaging mistake, is what it was

its aftermath a life of isolation and fear

as that seed of hurt began to grow

into a poisonous flower,

she realized the love she had known

was not love at all.

 

So she submerged the roots of her hurt

deeper into the rich brown soil beneath her

and she sought

more.

 

As the roots of the poisonous flower

began to elongate

they became tangled in the mess of the earth

the roots became knotted

by those of other plants

who were also seeking

a love they had once known.

 

Clouds faded and the sun revealed itself.

It shone on her in blues and reds,

the orange winds stilled

and time flew past her

a season of drought approached

and she grew weary.

Then she stopped seeking

and waited.

She waited for the rainfall,

and when it arrived,

each raindrop was to her

a tear fallen from her own eyes

all the tears gathered together, assembled,

and descended into her soul.

They danced around her

as she sucked in

all the revival she could get;

she was weary

and she wanted to see herself free

from the burdens of her past.

 

But she could not understand

why a part of her wanted

to continue revisiting her past,

a past of a burdened heart

and dull, grey memories.

The root of poison within her

was now reaching its leaves

throughout the length of her arms,

her waist; wrapping its thick, strong vines

around the perimeter of her waist

and tightening itself.

It grew past her waist

and down the length of her legs

and up into the depths of her

empty heart.

 

It grew past her shoulders,

the textured, rough leaves

scraping her ears

and she tensed and buckled,

trying to escape, be free.

 

But the vines continued to wrap

along the circumference of her neck,

and as it did, she felt the sharp thorns tearing into her flesh

and digging into her heart,

the poison now mixing into her blood

and her eyelids slowly began to close,

and she resisted, tried to cling on

to any remaining glimpse of her past,

her memories of the unfulfilling love

that she had known,

even though she knew

that it was not love at all.

 

This piece was inspired by author Khaled Hosseini in his writing of the novel A Thousand Splendid Suns, “And the past held only this wisdom: that love was a damaging mistake, and its accomplice, hope, a treacherous illusion. And whenever those twin poisonous flowers began to sprout in the parched land of that field, Mariam uprooted them. She uprooted them and ditched them before they took hold.”

Mute

Poems, Social Awareness
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The voices of wailing children

echo through my ears.

Flailing arms, reaching for a savior,

flood the perimeter of my mind.

Crimson are their arms,

pale is my face.

–

From conception she became.

In the womb of her mother she grew;

as the sun rose for the twenty-ninth morn,

her heart was beating.

Now, she kicks,

she swims;

and sometimes she smiles.

Amidst the pitch black darkness,

in the oceans of her mother’s womb,

she smiles.

Hopes and dreams

unsettling her,

she turns;

and to her left is darkness.

To her right,

is an endless remorse.

And below her,

are shadows.

But she hears a voice

from above her.

 He speaks to her gently;

His voice soothes her constantly,

and His light keeps her warm.

The oceans dip and dive around her,

the waves swoosh above her.

But not too far from there,

she hears the voice of her mother.

The soothing voice of her mother,

it is like honey to her soul

it is sweet and tender,

gentle and familiar.

 

She beams with joy

as a lingering scent floods her nostrils;

she can finally fill her stomach.

The remains of her mother’s feast

enter her room.

 

But as she feeds,

she hears nothing –

only an unfamiliar silence.

–

The thumping of her heart resounds throughout her room

as her mother’s voice fails to comfort her.

She feels pain,

and in her pain she writhes.

She senses the pain of her Father

as the comforts of her home are stirred.

She involuntarily

is swayed from side to side,

and it is not long before

she feels the walls of her mother against her.

For a moment she almost feels suffocated.

She tries to flail her legs, make the pain stop somehow,

but she can’t.

And suddenly,

the pungent blood;

the acidic, sour blood of her mother.

She sees the crimson

and soon enough;

the dreadful pain

of a sharp, cold, metal object

piercing her body.

All the fragments once being nurtured,

now being pierced.

She writhes,

writhes,

in pain.

She is in pain, but no one comforts

She yearns but receives no mercy

She kicks,

trembles,

but she is silent.

She wails

but there is no sound.

She speaks

but no one hears.

“Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves; ensure justice for those being crushed.” – Proverbs 31:8

Steadfast

Poems
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I glide the waters in the comfort of my watercraft,

my eyes perceiving endless cumulonimbus.

Domineering and ominous,

a bolt of lightning strikes the body of the vast ocean.

The sea roars,

its eerie cries further awakening the clouds above me.

 

Clouds move and conceal

any remaining traces of the tranquil sky

Thunder,

the pounding of heaven.

Powerful winds howl through the waters;

cold air encourages goosebumps to rise

to the surface of my skin.

I hold tightly to my boat;

my arms tremble in fear as my boat rises

up!

and down.

For a second I am afraid I will not live.

 

 

And as I fearfully ride the tempest tides,

an unknown future threatening me,

foes on all sides

and the absence of those who were once

in agreement with me,

I am met with His gracious embrace.

 

And the waves become still.

 

That which is greater than myself

is what I am called to.

As He surrounds me like a peaceful storm,

I rest.

His grace is always near

and His authority absolute,

stilling the tempest of storms.

The great unknown fails to unsettle me

and in stillness I rest.

 

Inspired by song “Oceans” by Hillsong

“You call me out upon the waters
The great unknown, where feet may fail
And there I find You in the mystery
In oceans deep,
My faith will stand.
And I will call upon Your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise, my soul will rest in Your embrace
For I am Yours, and You are mine.
Your grace abounds in deepest waters
Your sovereign hand
Will be my guide
Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me,
You’ve never failed, and You won’t start now…”

Colorism – India’s Subtle Bias and How Social Media is Slowly Uncovering It

Social Awareness
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Uncovering and removing the shame associated with having dark skin.

–

—–Colorism is discrimination based on skin color, a phenomenon that continues to divide peoples to this day.  In India, colorism is not merely an implication of beauty, but rather a disorderly idea which glorifies having light skin, associating it with status, intelligence, power, and privilege.

—–Why is it important to bring awareness to this issue? Well, have you experienced judgment merely because of your appearance? Or been placed in a category of being unattractive or unworthy because of the color of your skin? In countries like India, girls are told from a young age that their dark skin may unfortunately be a contributing factor to the reason why they can’t get married early, or get a job as easily as someone who is a few shades lighter than them. Brands like Fair & Lovely, a multi-billion dollar company, equate a lighter skin tone with happiness, desirability, and in today’s era, these companies hide behind feminist ideas such as empowering career oriented women to pursue their ambitions. It’s time to encourage a change in this type of convoluted thinking and remove the shame associated with having dark skin.

—–In this video, we see a young woman conflicted between pursuing a career of her own and getting married under the wishes of her parents. Once she starts using the tube of Fair & Lovely given to her by another woman (Yami Gautaum, model and actress), she decides she is in fact going to pursue her own desire of getting a job. The message: Fair skin is a prerequisite for making your own decisions.

—–Growing up, I was told not to play out in the sun for too long for fear of darkening my complexion. In one instance while I was in elementary school, a boy asked me why I was “so dark”. I didn’t know how to respond, because I didn’t think that I would ever have to defend my physical appearance. As I’ve grown older, my skin color has become something that I embrace and love; however, I understand that there are still many women and men in my own community and in communities around me, who are insecure about the color of their skin. Thinking about going back to visit India this summer also has me on edge about the type of comments I may receive from some family members. But as ridiculous as it may sound, I almost don’t blame them. This type of thinking has been ingrained in their minds since birth, essentially. Their society revolves around the idea that the lighter one’s skin, the more beautiful and valuable they are. While living in such a society, it’s practically impossible to escape from that mindset.

 

—–In India, colorism is a complex issue. Some argue that colorism predates colonization, while others claim that it is a result of European imperialism and ethnocentrism. These are not the only factors that one must account for when trying to understand this issue. The North-South divide and the caste system also contribute to this intricate phenomenon. This is not merely a “surface level” problem. People are placed into categories of status and privilege based on their skin color. The closer you are to the white man, the more worthy, valuable, and privileged you are.

—–In a country where the majority of the population has dark skin, it seems a bit absurd to try and encourage people to lighten their skin, yet countless companies invest ridiculous amounts of effort, time, and money to do exactly this. What’s even more frustrating is that these fairness creams are not even as effective as they claim.

—–It’s important to recognize that India is not the only country where this is common. Colorism is prevalent everywhere, from Thailand to Sri Lanka, Pakistan, China, Japan, South Africa, the United States, etc.

—–In the Indian film and music industry, it is very rare to find dark actresses in a main role. In fact, darker actresses are often cast as the villain or comedian. The portrayal, or lack thereof, of dark-skinned women is disheartening. If, in fact, the lead actress has a dusky complexion, makeup artists often make them appear lighter.

—–The effect of colorism is not only a sense of inferiority amongst people of the dark-skinnned community, but will eventually lead to an overall decline in one’s mental health. This results in anxiety, eating disorders, concerns about career and marital success, and even social popularity.

—–However, in today’s modern world with the somewhat increased spread of awareness and the development of discussions on social media sites like Twitter, there has been an uprising. The idea that “light is right” has been challenged by campaigns such as Dark is Beautiful lead by Indian actress Nandita Das.

—–Another movement on Twitter has the hashtag #unfairandlovely and is bringing light to the impacts of color prejudice. Pax Jones, a 21-year-old photographer from Texas, launched Unfair and Lovely, a campaign celebrating dark-skinned women. Her photos feature sisters Mirusha and Yanusha Yogarajah. “‘Mirusha’s experiences of being dark and South Asian helped me conceptualize the critical intersection that colorism rests at between various communities worldwide,’ says Jones, who is a black woman” (SELF Article).

—–On Instagram, the forces behind Unfair and Beautiful have teamed with Reclaim the Bindi, a campaign targetting cultural appropriation. These movements are drawing attention to the injustices faced by dark-skinned women in communities everywhere, while celebrating beauty of all skin tones.

 

It’s important to talk about the effects of colorism, as it continues to affect people to this day. A lack of public debate will only lead to continued marginalization, discrimination, and societal beliefs all deeming those with dark skin as less valuable. Though campaigns like Dark is Beautiful and Unfair and Lovely are not enough to fully transform Indian society and other communities, it is important in creating a public conversation. If we fail to take this issue seriously, the consequences will be deplorable. Though some argue that companies like Fair & Lovely are only doing what every other cosmetic company is doing, which is creating in women a sense of inferiority so that they are inclined to buy more products, the reality is that this issue is simply much deeper than that. If mental health is an issue that is receiving more awareness today, colorism, a phenomenon that leads to a decline in mental health, should also be a topic of concern.

 

 

“Knowledge is power – the more we inform others about the deep roots and lingering impact of colorism, the closer we come to creating a world that celebrates beauty in all form.” – Natasha Sharma for Dark is Beautiful

 

Universal Colorism 

Embracing Darker Skin Tones 

Why #UnfairandLovely Matters

The Woman Inspiring Me

Poems
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I am inspired

by the capable woman

by the virtuous woman

by the powerful woman

by the woman with a sound mind

and a spirit of courage.

–

I am inspired

by the woman encompassing true beauty

by the woman who is the epitome

of uncomfortability

and unconformity.

I am inspired

by the woman who is bold,

by the woman with a quiet spirit

by the woman who is unaffected by implications

and judgment

by the woman with a point of view

altering the course of current culture

and a willingness

to be the vessel for change.

–

I am inspired

by the woman walking by faith

and not by sight

by the woman leading the blind

by the woman carrying the weak

and feeding the hungry.

I am inspired

by the woman who rises early

by the woman who sets about her work vigorously,

and retires late.

–

I am inspired

by the woman who forgives,

by the woman who sees opportunity and takes,

by the woman who sees need and gives,

by the woman sowing seeds of mercy

even for those unworthy.

I am inspired

by the woman clothed in strength and dignity

by the woman speaking words of wisdom,

and has the self-control to hold her tongue.

I am inspired by the humble woman,

by the woman who sees not only her own value,

but the value of those surrounding her.

–

I am inspired

by the woman who loves without expecting return

by the woman who laughs at days to come

by the woman whose spirit is not weighed

by the harshness of her circumstances.

I am inspired by the woman

who rejoices always,

whose joy is not dependent on achievements

but rather is emphatic about the grace given to her freely.

I am inspired by the woman

who sees her weaknesses

and understands she is limited 

by the woman who relies not own her own strength 

but on the Spirit of God. 

–

I am inspired by the woman 

who pursues that which is admirable;

and though she is faced with opposition, 

walks without fear of failure;

though she is mocked for that which she believes,

speaks valiantly.

–

This is the woman who inspires me,

who I aspire to be,

who I am becoming.

–

This is the woman

who creates change

who is unaffected by what surrounds her

who is focused on her own path.

–

This is the woman who,

though she walks the narrow path,

sees need and provides

sees hunger and feeds

sees hatred and loves

sees pain and soothes

sees anger and calms

sees division and unites.

–

This is the woman who inspires.

 

Made New

Poems
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I was seeking

an endless river

of pure bliss,

of eternal peace,

of unending joy.

–

A river flowing past coarse boulders,

briskly washing away with it

broken branches and fallen petals,

stems of dandelions and overgrown weeds,

shattered rocks and sediment

weathered by erosion.

An endless river

bordered by tall white lilies,

blooming wildflowers and petunias;

surrounded by

branches of thick mulberry trees,

and harmoniously swimming there

are birds of the seas.

–

I was seeking even then

a pot,

a well even;

of gold,

silver,

and bronze.

I yearned to be,

to see,

to be perceived,

as a stable turquoise wall,

covered in rubies.

Yet,

riches I was not seeking.

–

I sought.

–

Then I found

–

a river of endless grace,

a sea of astounding joy,

a tornado of emerging peace.

It surrounds me,

overwhelms me,

encompasses my very being.

It remains in the depths of my soul,

in the most mysterious corners of my heart.

My eyes once on

myself,

my ways,

my passions,

now turn to the seas,

the sky,

the oceans.

–

I look to relentless grace

to embrace me, console me, redeem me,

to relieve me, equip me, sustain me,

to empower me, encourage me, untangle me,

save me,

as my feet walk and walk

across wide muddy paths;

the aftermath of tempest nights,

dark and lonely days,

silent, rainy evenings.

–

I will be rebuilt

as a wall of fortitude,

of honor,

of precious radiance, fearlessness, and courage.

I will be rebuilt

as a turquoise wall,

covered in lapis lazuli,

diamonds,

amethyst,

and pearls.

–

Unintelligible love

I once sought

towers over me,

encircles me like a storm,

a roaring, burning, flaming tide of richness

covers me,

washes me,

cleanses me,

and makes me whole,

new.  

–

I am new.