The Abandoned Artist

 

“We all are artists in disguise of mortals, brimming with divine energy.”

The Abandoned Artist

A collection of authentic poems, exploring the depths of true art and how it can be playfully misunderstood.

Have you ever liked doing something so much that others misunderstood you and called it “obsession”, without realizing how hard you are working towards that passion? It can be dancing, writing, sports and so much more. There is an artist in all of us. Not just someone that paints on a canvas; but someone that feels, dreams, smiles, cries, creates, and inspires. Why don’t we explore that artist together? It’s not just fun, it’s soulful.

Dedicated to The Creek Planet School, and all my amazing teachers and friends.

Thank you not just for teaching me, but for giving me hope, inspiration, motivation, challenges, smiles and new experiences. Next year, I will be leaving the school, so this book is a token of gratitude and my way of bidding farewell. Though this touches on topics similar to my first book, it is like encouragement from my side through poetic words, and also technically a teaser for my upcoming book.

             

                   Author’s Note

First of all, hi! I’m Manvitha. I turned 12 this year.

Ohhh..I always talk about dreams, inner potential, and passion, isn’t it?

But think about it. Do you know any famous dancers, singers, actresses, writers, etc. ?

Obviously you would know. In fact, many of you must be fans of them. Why do you think Pawan Kalyan acts in movies and develops Andhra Pradesh? Why do you think Lisa, Jennie, Jisoo and Rosé make music? Why do you think Sreeleela dances? Why do you think people like me write?

Because acting, writing, singing, dancing; these are all not just actions. They are feelings. They are emotions. To dancers, dancing is an emotion. To writers, writing is an emotion. To singers, singing is an emotion and so on. 

All of these things are not just hobbies. They are a piece of art. 

Did you ever hear the story of Bill Gates? He once said;

“I passed in some subjects. My friend passed in all of them. Then, a few years later, he was working under Microsoft, and I was the owner.”

How is that possible? 

Because when we are passionate about something, we have fresh ideas. We don’t really fit in. But that’s actually an advantage. 

Now, of course I am not at the age to give philosophy lectures. I am just telling you what I understood from my experiences.

Now, Bill Gates didn’t pass in all the subjects, right? That way, people misunderstand your greatness, and judge it based on restrictive criteria. That’s exactly what I experienced many times. Sometimes, people thought I did “Silly” and “unrealistic” things. That’s why this book is called, “The Abandoned Artist”.

My upcoming book is somewhat similar to this topic. It’s  a diary about how a teenage girl is misunderstood, how she navigates new friends and ideas, and shows how crazy yet beautiful it is to grow up.

These poems will show you my artful nature of how I observe things, how I secretly write poems in my head, how I love humming to my favorite tunes and how it all changes my view of this judgmental world. 

I will be showing you my inner artist. I hope that in my words, you can find your inner artist as well. 

It is important to note that by “Abandoned Artists”, I just refer to different people with different passions and situations, and how they are sometimes misunderstood. “Artists” does not necessarily refer to people with hobbies and talent, it’s even just appreciating their honorable and adamant personalities.

P.S.

Thank you for picking up my book, however imperfect, and supporting me in my journey.

-Manvitha

 

             Chapter One: Acknowledgement    

Meaning: 

These seemingly “abandoned” artists deserve more love and recognition. Always sketching in a notebook, scribbling ideas, jotting down thoughts or simply thinking about their ambitions and existing humanely in the world adds a somewhat quiet yet powerful grace to the universe. We need more real, quiet spirits, not just fake, loud souls.  

You are beautiful. Not just for your body, but for your soul. You deserve acknowledgment that is heartfelt and real, not deceiving and cunning. 

And here it is.

                                   

A poem about how a child loves learning and observing the world at their own pace, but is sometimes criticized and called too irritating or engaged:

                               The Child

Walking down a colorful path,

They stop to look at something fluttering

Swaying near flowers, as soothing as a bath

Butterflies dwell, simply uttering

Whispers to the mauve petals

Glistening like shiny metals

Isn’t the child like a butterfly?

Beaming with ideas, looking for hope

Of finding something fresh like mistletoe

And ponders for eternity, helping them cope

With their aura, don’t you know?

Just like me

Daydreaming alone

People object, scold and judge

This quiet power

Of simply learning

But it can be as smooth as fudge

If you build a tower

Of enthusiasm and yearning

It is called “daydreaming”, or “being nosy” 

But I call it “quiet creation”.

      A poem about how adults’ efforts require precise planning or sometimes even just emotional concern:                            

                               The Adult

Staring at the desk blankly, scraping pens inside their books,

They plan our fate, money and hooks

Us in their life, full of thought

Such a careful, symmetrical dot

People exclaim, “boring!”

Peasants named it “sabotaging!”

But behind that gazing lies a truth

Make life polished like a golden tooth

The sweat and tears of them all

Shows their passion, bold and tall

It’s known as “overthinking destruction”

I call it “responsibility”.

                         A poem appreciating the passion and emotiveness of dancers:

                           The Dancer

Pulling out their phone

Let the music flow

Swaying arms, to and fro

Moving to the tune is what they know

It’s not mindless

It’s full of soul

Drape it like a dress

Reach your goal

Every movement, an expression of love

For songs that rise like a soft dove

Choreographs spirit, not just steps

Delicately crafted like God’s forceps

It’s not “lost in moves”

It’s not “lazy tries”

It’s a passion; so smooth

Not flawless, no lies

They don’t just choreograph, they craft.

A poem exploring how singers bring meaningful and enriching songs to life despite misunderstandings:

                            The Singer

Words flood their voice,

Adorned with emotion

It’s not just a choice

It’s forgotten dreams in motion

When the lyrics hit

Vocals like storms

They empower like “Don’t just sit!”

“Stand up, break norms!”

Somewhere inside

Their lyrics are stories

Singing is art

Performances are glories

It is “ranting” on the outside,

“Storytelling’ on the inside.

                A poem about how words are a writer’s most powerful weapon; not destructive, but impactful:

                           The Writer

 

When no one seemed to care

Books began glowing

Valuable words to share,

The urge kept growing

Unwritten letters

Untold ambitions

Keeps getting better

With bold demonstrations

The cage is broken, words reveal

The writer’s heart, drastically real

Fiction is fun

Poetry is priceless

And everything else

Magical and weightless

They don’t just live in their own world

They live a world that encircles all!

                          A poem about the liveliness and grace of painters’ works:

                             The Painter

Mixing hues

Filling the canvas

Nothing is more true

Than authentic pieces

Of beautiful colors

That light up the sky

The divine brush strokes

They never die

The quiet aura

Of the brush

Like a ravishing aurora

Vibrant and lush

The Painter looks into the blank space

And brings to life a luscious escape

Nature, trees that seem mundane

Become opaque, vibrant; no blame

It’s all in the wonder

Of making pictures

Pondering at walls, evoking emotions

Gentle greetings, not a lecture                 

Not a painting, but resemblance of the self.

                       

                A poem praising the birth of new ideas created by designers:

                                                     The Designer

Twinkling silk robes

Futuristic villas

Mindful with curves, like gentle ear lobes

Delectable and sleek, like aromatic vanilla

Sparking ideas, making revolutions

Endless sketches, innovative solutions

Behind those sketches

Lies mental framework

Designing; it stretches

Giving sparkles a jerk

Not just scribbles

But dreams drawn on paper

And eternal tapestries

Of designers and their shapers

It may be perceived as “scribbling”

But in my world, it’s “designing the future”.

                       A poem describing how actors live in the souls of characters:

                             The Actor

Hears a line

That touches the soul

Reveals everything that’s untapped

Doubts decline

Making a goal

Like soaring birds, they flap

Not just dialogues

But feelings of life

Every wink

An alluring delight

They don’t just act

They feel pain and pleasure

Of phenomenal people

Who rise together

It is not “mimicry of fictional people”

It is “representation of feelings”.

           A poem presenting external pressure showed on teenagers, and how they should be given   

                      freedom:

                                                             The Teen

Expectations; presented like shadows

That silently lurk and gnaw at their soul

Sometimes they listen, sometimes they don’t

It’s all in their heart, rising higher than their goal

Sometimes you should let them pour down their thoughts

Deafening like thunder, authentic like rain

But in a mere spark of lightening

Lies a hope

That someday the world will sway to their tunes,

Someday their thoughts matter to people

But until then, validation is found

Within themselves

Hopefully.

They don’t “need your praise”.

They “seek your encouragement”.

Some don’t need it at all

They want to be valued for what they desire.

If acknowledged, they grow, higher and higher

         A poem that explores what may lie beneath a people-pleaser:                 

                            The Favorite 

Everyone’s handy, flexible spirit

Continues to please the crowd

Sometimes shown; blissful and quiet

Sometimes shown lively and loud

Visible; is their jolly persona

Invisible; is their desire to refuse

They yearn to say “maybe later”

But keep going with “unconditional love “

What is love?

What does it mean?

It’s shown to all through a genuine heart

But shut off, for it grows apart

Or maybe they don’t please people at all

It is their magnetic aura that beings adore

Mostly it’s genuine

Sometimes the bare minimum

But never foreseen with an empty hand.

                    A poem that demonstrates the joy found in teaching:  

                          The Teacher

Teaching virtues, not just lessons

Jovial to continue, keen to listen

Not for money, not for gold

But for timeless learning that never grows old

Students, as assets

Never overlooked

By their teachers

As humble as dandelions

With words of zeal, they praise and preach

Not just books but values in all 

Guiding their pupils to learn and teach

Along their beautiful journeys of life

“Why do you love it despite the low salary?”

Because teaching is my dorm of hope, my gallery.

                         

       A poem bringing the potential and feelings of deep-thinkers to life:            

                       The Philosopher

What is so admirable about gazing away

Into the eternal, twinkling sky

And ask the universe for insights and stay

In that pavilion?

What is your why?

Maybe it’s more than wandering

Maybe it’s serene pondering

Stepping into a world; flowery but true

Nothing more than answers of blue

Poignant it may be

But never deceitful 

Just pure truth

Sparked from divinity

And all this pondering

Is transformed into questioning

“Why,” you ask,

“Why the tears?”

Because they may be considered “outcasts”

But you never know

How much they bloom and grow.

                   

                        A poem hinting that “different” people are destined for much more:

                         The Outcast

They may be backbenchers

Or gifted, or unique

Cursed to feel

Like they don’t belong

All they can do is look within

Not to prove, but to feel alive

Who knows what’s inside, Good deed or sin?

But beneath that etiquette

Lies something special

Expansive and soulful, like an archive

They may not fit it in society

For they may be meant for something much more…..

                            A poem sharing the true ambitions of seemingly successful people:                     

                            The Topper

“How?” Is quite a simple question to ask

But “Why?”

Very bold, I must say

Their scores and achievements pass by our vision

But never asked for 

Is their compelling mission

full of nothing but perseverance 

To live up to their standards is very much beloved

Setting aside their intellectual understanding

And passion towards equations and literacy

Maybe unseen, maybe masked

Yet they rise with their outstanding score once more

Not with their marks, but with their mission

Successful, fulfilled; ready to soar. 

   A poem appreciating the deep focus of those dedicated to their work:              

                        The Workaholic

Wiping off sweat

Dusting off dirt

They rise; defiant, nonchalant, wet

Drenched in showers that take action, not blurt

No more thinking

Put an end to analyses

And follow your heart, do what seems right

Choose a path that’s clear and wise

And watch it glow; dreamy and bright

“Disconnected”, they are fancily labelled

But did you care to look for what lies underneath?

All it takes is a sharp, focused mind

Your goals are just floating, they’re not out of reach

But the power lies in you

To grab its possession

Like a promise made to yourself,

An empowering confession

That’s what workaholics do, they don’t shut people off

They bring them together with work, pants and coughs.

A poem exploring the misunderstood beauty of admiration and enjoyment:

                        The Fangirl

Adrenaline rush

The world stops

Enthrallment increases

Heart drops

“My idol is back” they yelp out loud,

Full of admiration, bold and proud

People don’t get it

So they call it dumb

But they don’t know the meaning 

So they keep mum

“I wish I could have an idol like that,

With the hope of a fan, the spark of a bat”

  

 A poem about the enrichment of human emotions and simple yet empowering feelings:

                                                     The Human

Amongst all these creations, they must exist

Simple as spiritual beings

Gazing at stars, finding bliss

In quiet, serene doings

They do mistakes

It makes them special

Learn from experience

Not just credentials

A heart of pure gold

Studded with diamonds

Of love for the world

Shown in pure silence

It’s ok to be different

It makes you shine

That’s beautiful

I would love it to be mine

But your personality

Is under your possession

It outshines the world

That’s grace, not pressure

People call you names, but you are always you!

      

                Chapter Two: Empowerment

Meaning:

Maybe these “abandoned” artists do not always need validation or praise, even from people like me. They still always shine in their own way, thus empowering themselves even when people don’t understand them.

It is not a compulsion that recognition is required to contribute to the universe. You don’t need fancy titles or visible acknowledgement to be an artist. Sometimes, the unseen part of you is much richer, Not for your achievements, but for your whole existence, and the way you can empower yourself even in the darkest times without anything else, but just by realizing the true meaning of art. Just yourself. Just your passion. Your thoughts. Your clarity.

It’s not about how bright you shine. It’s all in the empowerment that lies within that glow; your true work, aura, and essence.

                  

                   

                A poem expanding the physical idea of a home, showing that it can mean internal joy for simple people:   

                                                        A Beggar Finds A Home 

Malnourished, empty for days on end

Not just the stomach but also the soul

Spirits to lift, a life to mend

And that itself; a remarkable goal

When will they find their true essence

When they can’t devour a scrap of food?

Not just delectably, but even happily

“What a curse!” they mutter to themselves

 

But maybe their joy is in finding something

Not labelled, but rather dear to the heart

Something vintage, scrappy, old, nevertheless

A shed of hope that never falls apart

Perhaps they have finally found their home

Not luxurious, but rather soulful

And it’s all in the things that they hold close

Whether scrappy or worn out; always artful

And that’s where their little home is found

Neither in a building nor in pointless scopes

But in something crafted, like a shed of hope

A ray; never diminished, that they can always cherish

Bonus poem: Your Happiness 

(Derived from my Telugu short film on YouTube: “Your Happiness”)

Link: https://youtu.be/O_QzbVRaKyM?si=6uO_H6AcAla9D1eS

A poem that explores similar topics, diving into the true meaning of what “art” actually means. Not just the societal validation, but the authentic joy that lies in the work itself.

Spending hours perfecting a piece 

Hiding its flaws, positioning its laces

To do what everyone does to please

And gain their likes, comments, and places 

But abandoned art is quite overlooked;

The type that comes purely from you

Has sprinkled saffron like a delicate cook

Glowing with aroma, authentic and true

Maybe trend is worth the hype

Unless you want the juicy, real type

The one that is judged, but goes on lasting

Hard to love, like dignified fasting 

And there you have it; the true essence of art

The kind that’s questioned, then answers spill out

Clearer than ever

Enriching like tart.

A poem narrating the experience of a how a writer moves moves from pressure and stress to joy and weightlessness while writing a story:             

                             A New Story

Racking their brains to figure out a plot twist

As polished as dew with every word

Pressure shows up, haunting; like a drift

Slow but painful, disturbing, absurd

Then it dawns on them; it was all a lie,

A false hope to write better books

But the best stories come from within

Messy thoughts; unorganized hooks

The best story was the one that was hated,

Questioned for its worth until it was known

A silent idea, an honest story

With emotive lines that were the best ever shown

Not for reviews, but due to mere love

A labour of passion, a process of confusion

Yearning; the writer rises high above

 Again, with a new story, serene like a dove.

A poem challenging modern ideas of hype and boldness:

                                Hyped Up 

Arts and trends

Tweaks and mends

Of performance; all in all

Polished as an iconic hall

Every move, something slay

Flowery expressions that make the day

Bringing glee to everyone’s face

Just to feel lost, out of place

It’s not about how hyped an art makes us feel

The greatness lies in how connective, how real.           

A poem picturing the feeling of performing passionately on a silent, hopeful stage rather than the loud ones we see today:

                      The Silent Stage

Strumming the guitar until their fingers burn

A quiet aura; burns down into ashes

But those revived remains proceed to earn

Their pursued dignity; as a whole or as mashes

Voices echo like melodies

That ring in their head

Intense yet soothing

Like the prancing flower beds

No yelps, no fan chants

But focus as sharp

As adoring eagle eyes

The crowd aims a dart

Tears start to stir up

And pour down like fountains

Strong and meaningful

Tranquil like mountains

And then the crowd claps;

Not wild, but hopeful

Like a gentle lap

Simply genuine and tearful.

        

       A poem illustrating a quiet, artful version of a late night talk:               

                                                        Late Night Talk

Not a soul around

Except their own

A gentle sound

Buried, unknown

It’s 3am

The painter is up

Making art,

Glowing like a buttercup

Blobs of color

Adorn the canvas

Begin to savor

Passionate, priceless

Talking with their brushes

Strokes of divine

Splashes of hues

Skillful and fine

A late night talk with only their soul

A prized time, gleaming like gold.

A poem showcasing imperfections as equally significant and meaningful:

                               A Broken Piece

Moonlit marble; gleaming and white

Made into sculptures, a beautiful sight

When no one cares about the delicate lines

A sculptor emerges, sleek and fine

They pour their heart onto stone

Carving intricate patterns, focused and alone

But then the sculpture starts to chip

A piece comes off dry, like a yearning lip

But after all, they at least tried

And had the courage to chase their dreams

Creating art which never lied

Tears stir up, dropping like streams

But what if the broken piece is what gives it glow?

Like how fire burns and spreads to grow

However imperfect; a resemblance of goal

However chipped and dusty; creates energy like coal

Sooty and damaged it may look,

But underneath once lived dreams that shook.

A poem voicing the unseen struggles and ambitions of teens:

                        The Scrappy Teen

A scrappy teen sits in their room

Seeming to be lost; fiddling

When all they wanted was to escape the gloom

Endure the pain, the meddling

Maybe they think in a different way

Perhaps they cherish solitude and stay

In that little room, tiny and boxed

Seeming to believe what is not

But I said “seeming”

I never said it’s true

Except their unseen ideas

Melancholic and blue

Only because people don’t them a chance,

Or else, like bursting stars they prance

So let them dance, let them explore

You will see wonders brighter than folklore.

Dear Readers, 

Now I know you might be thinking, “what is this interruption between the poems?” But hear me out. Please.

I do not want to this book to be a flowery, philosophy lecture. I do not want it to be a polished, unreal piece. I want it to be emotionally intelligent, raw and expressive.

I know that this overall book so far may not be very well structured. Not all poems have a proper rhyming scheme, they don’t have a uniform length, and some words are repeated, and in the middle there are bonus poems like “Your Happiness”.

That’s because after I wrote my first book, got good grades or whatnot, I received a lot of praise. But, interestingly enough, not the kind of praise I wanted. I received praise for my marks, not for my passion towards the subject. I received praise for the fame I have brought to my family, not for the soul I poured into “Inner Potential: An Unexpected Inspiration”.

I am not saying this to brag, be a “pick me” girl, or to seek more and more validation. In fact, they were many extraordinaire individuals who supported me in the whole journey. But I realized is that most of the time, especially in Indian culture, external beauty and perfection is more welcomed and preferred over the messy part behind the scenes; the lazy days when I couldn’t write a single word, the frustrated days when I couldn’t get ideas, or the days when I felt lost but still showed up.

That’s why I want to challenge this system and show that imperfections can also be powerful and open up new opportunities for growth. That’s why I want to keep my poems raw, unstructured and authentic, with creative bursts in the middle. Don’t we all agree that from failure you can learn from mistakes? If so, then I believe that it isn’t wise to scold children when they get grades lower than the neighbor’s kid, or when they don’t want to play with other kids and just want some alone time to do something they like, like dancing, writing, blogging or anything else.

I understand that parents think that Gen-Z is horrible, but go read that poem again, “The Scrappy Teen”. With proper maturity and intelligence, things like watching videos that they like, researching on topics, questioning unfair traditions or law, starting a YouTube channel/blog and presenting their ideas, focusing on mindfulness, journaling, being allowed to be themselves can be the best resemblance of Gen-Z. Being allowed to be themselves is the only thing kids ever wanted. With more resources in this generation, it’s absolutely ok that some kids want to fight for justice, represent ideas, write books, or start YouTube channels. Their version of enjoyment is different now. It’s ok.

That “The Scrappy Teen” right there? That’s me.

Thank you so much. Now, let us continue this poetic self-transformation journey.

-Manvitha 

A poem exploring the nature of prejudiced rebellion versus voicing opinions worth spreading:

                         The Protest

An army of public; defiant, they roar

Until the throat bursts; dreadful and sore

But when their wish is fulfilled, how drenched!

Whole and healed, their throat is quenched

Not just slogans, not just signs

But pure rebellion; I wish it were mine

Not the type that breaks rules

But gives way to new perspective and tools

“Against the government”, an unsuitable term

“Working with the government” better to say.

Before we conclude this chapter; I would like to acknowledge the beauty of empowerment; the messiness, the “unorganized hooks” and the courage to transform that pain into power.

I would like to acknowledge a beautiful song from Kpop Demon Hunters which talks about transforming authentic pain into a unique quality that embodies your spirit.

 What It Sounds Like (NOT MY WORK)

“I broke into a million pieces and I can’t go back,

But now I’m seeing all the beauty through the broken glass.

The scars are part of me,

Darkness and harmony,

My voice without the lies;

This what it sounds like.

Why did I cover up the colors stuck inside my head?

I should’ve let the jagged edges meet the light instead,

Show me what’s underneath,

I’ll find your harmony,

The song we couldn’t write;

This is what it sounds like.”

Hey, please don’t flip the page yet. I need to show you one more amazing song before we move on to the last chapter.

This may seem out of place, but……

Ummm……

Are you…

Are you a BLINK? (BLACKPINK Fan)

If so, hi there, fellow blink! (Waiting for a new album to drop..)

If not, alright, no problem. 

This entire book has so far been very formal and mature..so this may seem out of topic, but I promise, it’ll be worth it.

Usually, Kpop girl groups are known for their outgoing, bubbly, cute, and aesthetically-pleasing nature. The thing that makes BLACKPINK special is not just their global popularity, but their rebellious, bold, fierce and powerful persona. But what some people don’t see is the messy part behind; their struggles. Rosé had to leave her family just at the age of 15 to train at YG Entertainment. Jennie had to take her own independent life decisions in New Zealand. Lisa was doubted for her worth just because she was the first foreign trainee. Jisoo was bullied for her looks. Now, people call her, “Miss Korea”.

Just as I said, they transformed their pain into power, and sang songs full of sass. But underneath those rap-heavy songs lay a vulnerable, strong group of 4 inspiring women.

After they went solo and were not under the control of YG, they had the opportunity to experiment and explore themselves, and got to create alluring music.

Here is a lyric from “You Never Know” (NOT MY WORK)

“But you'll never know unless you walk in my shoes

You'll never know 엉켜버린 내 끈

'Cause everybody sees what they wanna see

It's easier to judge me than to believe”

         

                       Chapter 3: Authenticity

Meaning:

No matter what our soul undergoes, no matter what art we create, there’s this one thing that we gain at the end; authenticity.

After being misunderstood, undergoing change, experimenting, exploring, or even simply taking a deep, confident breath as yourself, we develop a voice. One that takes time to form. Life may throw a thousand challenges on you. You may be feeling a mix of emotions all at once. 

But it’s not about finding your way out. It's about finding your way in. It’s about embracing your uniqueness, giving yourself time, and discovering the you that was masked all this time; from pressure, expectations, or external circumstances.

And authenticity or staying true to yourself is how you get in.

           A poem comparing internal fulfillment to the morning breeze:

                                       The Morning Breeze

How crisp is your soul, for the morning breeze

Truly confides in your light

It blows through graceful locks of hair

Taking you on a endless flight

It whispers truth to the wind

And swirls around the air

It lets you be unique within

And lovingly whirls without flair

No wonder the creaks

No matter how sleek

Your soul is free

To simply be

Broken cages start to fade

Into this breeze; eternally remade

Lingering near, it still exists

Transforms into power, perhaps not a myth.

          A poem encouraging authenticity:

                  Swaying To The Tune

Unseen tracks

Mask the bigger you

Those derailing melodies

Hide everything that’s true

Thoughts become jumbled

No longer a jigsaw

Words start to fumble

Yet race like a rickshaw

When unseen barriers are tossed aside

Your face is uncovered; we can see your why

Though people may judge

You can see your worth

So sway to the tune

And foresee a wonder’s birth.

     A poem praising the nature of true satisfaction:

                               Satisfactory

Flair is abolished

Fake smiles shatter

Wounds are diminished

Just quiet chatter

Fulfillment arrives

Neither sad nor loud

But glorious enough to say,

“I am proud!”

Strength gushes in; 

A true gift to others

An art so exquisite 

Emerges another

“Oh, I am satisfied!”

The artist says at last

Not for the fame,

But for an authentic magic cast.

    A poem enlightening the significance of fandoms:

                         The Fandom

To support the glory

An army will barge

Soon enough, my dear

Supportive and large

In the dark wilderness

Your fandom sheds light

Much to your pleasing

An artful delight

Perhaps not confining 

They can give you their all

No need for whining

Whether big or small

They are your fans;

Your joy and hope

True ones will emerge

And spread warmth, like an envelope

They give you sparkles

Not purpose alone

In midst of the crowd, 

It’s like you found home.

    A poem about expressing gratitude to genuine people:

                       Thanking you

It will feel unreal, it will feel like a dream

Once you let the critics go, far away to scream.

And while you artfully do your work,

They may linger near and start to twerk

Seeing wondrous art come to life;

A surreal feeling, a soulful sight

People are waiting to see it in time

The right ones will find you, clinking like a dime.

I promise, only those who deserve your thanks

Will turn to you, but not for power or ranks

Their soul guides them 

To find you at their pace

So show your gratitude,

Give them a place.

 

        A poem about uncovering our true selves:

                          Dear self, I found you

Among all the things I hold close and dear,

Perhaps I forgot something lingering near

So I erased the shadows and came tearing down walls

To find my real essence, quiet yet tall

Not for its height, but for its birth;

The life it sparked in my eyes

Not about range, not about worth

But something rather made me surprised.

What a beauty that was hidden through the layers!

Unique, complex yet brutally true

In a world of its own, our soul is the mayor

With pleasure of yellow and pain of blue

It sparked a fire because it was real

One that was set free, no longer sealed.

Bonus Poem: Monica Is Empowered

(Derived my first book, “Inner Potential: An Unexpected Inspiration”)

Maybe my main character, Monica, also experienced this journey of growth. In midst of her greatest inspirations, she found herself. Let’s see her point of view.

Not just Tess but also me

Along with Kuma, I was set free

Zaydock, Andrea, Mom, and Dad

I always loved them, but something felt sad.

I credited them, but never knew

What I could do soulfully and true

Still, the journey taught me to love

Myself for everything; down and above.

In between lines, I found the truth,

Unfiltered, raw; yet somewhat like a tooth

It kept growing while I didn’t see

But its true aura is what made it me.

                 

                       Acknowledgements

 I would like to offer my gratitude to my sources of inspiration.

Thank you, The World (both the outer world and my inner world), for giving me new experiences. I hope that my book is taken as a token of thanks for your grace, and simply shows how to appreciate art and the beautiful experience of life.

I will forever be grateful to everyone in my life (parents, family, teachers, friends, and many others) who have supported and encouraged me in what I do, however imperfect. It is by your benevolence that I keep going forward with my ideas and words. 

Also by the author

Inner Potential: An Unexpected Inspiration