Numbers inked in red.

-Cleverquacks

When I got my exam results, they weren't as good as I wanted them to be,

But I will not beat myself up about it.

I'll simply try harder next time.

Because although I didn't do my best, I did better.

And I believe that there's more to life than numbers inked in red on a page.

I want to live a quiet, simple life.

Where pleasure is so easily found in something as simple as cooking pasta that finally tastes just right,

And the joy of having a sweet cup of cold tea,

And the familiarity of a pen in between your fingers,

And the relief when the words pour out of your soul before you even try.

I want to be all there is to be,

And to see all there is to see,

And to read all there is to read.

I want to live life to the fullest, because life is ephemeral, and you only live it once.

Every thought must count.

Every stroke of this pen must count.

Every drop of this ink must count.

Every key I press must count.

Everything I create must count,

And I must make it beautiful.

What is one without the other?

What is a man without his thoughts,

And what are thoughts if not inked?

What is poetry, if it sits on a page and looks so perfect, but doesn't make you feel anything?

What is poetry, if it doesn't bleed from the hand that writes it, and doesn't drip from our tongues like the sweet, raw honey we scarcely find?

I want to grow old, in a garden full of tea leaves and mango trees and rows and rows of orchids,

To sit on a swing and feel everything around me so deeply.

I'd wake up in the wee hours of morning, and go for a walk,

And I'd come back holding a rope tied to the rising sun.

I'd make a lovely cup of tea, cold and sweet, and drink it with someone I love,

And I'd realize that there are more important things in life than the sheet of paper with numbers inked in red I had thrown away decades ago.

 Dear mum,

-Cleverquacks

No one will ever understand you like a mother does,

No matter how much they try.

No one will love you like a mother loves,

She'll know everything with one look in your eyes.

She'll know when you're angry, she'll know when you're sad,

She knows even when you try to hide.

She'll know when someone has said something mean,

In her, you can always confide.

A lot of people love their mothers so,

The woman who helped give them life.

Words can't describe how much I love my mum,

She's someone who is easy to like.

She strokes my hair and hugs me tight

On nights I have trouble sleeping.

No matter how mad she gets when I miss the alarm,

She'll send me to school leaping.

On days where I'm nervous, and my legs feel like jelly,

Invisible are the battle I'm facing.

She holds my cold hand in the warmth of her own,

But really, it's my heart she's embracing.

Really, how can you not love someone like that?

Who sees you at your worst and still thinks you're wonderful.

Someone who takes you up to cloud nine,

And makes the world seem a little bit more colourful.

As this poem comes to an end,

It isn't the best, with that I can agree,

But I hope my mum knows

How much she means to me.

I love you mum <333

The Dark and its Loneliness

The Dark and its Loneliness 

-Cleverquacks

I close my eyes, and all I see is this dark abyss of empty nothingness.

It's cold, and dank, and terrifying.

No matter what I think up in this head of mine, I'm surrounded in this unmistakable blackness.

The darkness reaches out and tries to suffocate me.

Freezing cold,  yet burning hot, heavy hands wrap around my throat.

Hot and cold, dark and bright, weightless and heavy,

It's everything at once.

All the while, a voice whispers,

"You are young, and you are learning. You are young, and you are learning."

I realize it's trying to comfort me.

The darkness is trying to help me.

But most people in this world, save a few, help no one but themselves.

And as the air around me grows thicker with every breath I take,

I wonder if it's trying to smother me in reassurance, or if it even knows I'm there.

"I'm here," I want to say.

I hear your pleas.

I listen to your cries, and I know what you long for each night.

"Love me, love me," you plead.

So many say that they fear you,

But you must know that they do not fear you,

They fear what you may hold.

They fear what might be inside of you.

Everything you could be capable of.

But you, misunderstood,

You must know that some of us love you,

We need you.

We need you when we want to fall asleep,

And we need you when the world is too bright and it's all too much.

We need you, to help us remember that we are not alone in being lonely.

So tonight, I'll close my eyes, and embrace you for what you are.

You are the darkness, and I will love you until the last dying star.

The Jewel Thief

 

The Jewel Thief 

-Cleverquacks

What if the jewel was stolen by the Thief?

One the townsmen dared never to meet.

The furious King sent men to hunt him down,

But the world never understood his reluctance to be found.

"Don't come back to me without his head!"

The Thief then swore he never meant for them to be dead.

But what if the Thief wasn't born that way?

What if he gave, and let them take and take?

What if the Thief just wanted what was his?

A father's approval, and a mother's gentle kiss.

Rumours have spread, the King hasn't been the same since,

What if the Thief was really the Prince?

Better off left alone.

 

Better off left alone

-Cleverquacks

 
A child sits alone in the principal’s room,
He’s waiting impatiently for the day’s new doom,
He’s in here this time for punching a kid in the head,
Now rushed to the hospital, floating near death.
 
He’s suspended, threatened with a fate much worse still,
Expelled with the next complaint, his record now filled,
But no one ever bothered to ask why he was this way,
He’s trapped in the past, in an unforgettable day.
 
A young boy sits alone, huddled between pillows,
His parents are yelling, their arguments were bellowed,
He covers his ears, and lets his tears fall down,
That night, sleep embraced him, and he dreamt that he drowned.
 
In oceans of salt, a soul melting, dripping down,
With young eyes that looked far too old in a deep and constant frown,
People say the eyes speak louder than any of your words,
A film unravelling when your voice leaves, like a flock of flying birds.
 
This is why he never dared to look people in the eye,
Afraid he’d reveal his secrets, that they’d float up and fly,
Through the breeze, like leaves, as fast as wildfire,
Society loves to spread rumours, while the victim hides desires.
 
Burning brighter than the sun,
A mother’s love, to be a father’s son,
Not just related by blood, but related by the bonds of the heart,
To share a smile, a laugh, a hug, a place that’s seen as a hearth.
Warm flames that hold you tight, and smell like safer days,
This is what he longs for, if only there was a way;
 
To love and be loved,
To see and be seen,
To heal and be healed,
To care and be taken care of,
 
To hurt and be helped,
To cry and be held,
To discover and to roam,
To be free, yet be home.
 
Life had taught him that nothing is easy,
To get what you want, you might have to feel queasy,
But he’s been scared for as long as he could recall,
Like standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting for the fall.
 
He’s reckless because no one taught him how to live,
Love was never taken, and he’d rather not give,
For he wasn’t so certain he knew how to love
Never had he seen it, no matter how much he looked above.
 
“So, really,” he thought, as he sat outside the room,
“It’s really not my fault, for not knowing what to do,”
How to treat others, or how to respect,
He had seen that it was something you could never really get.
 
If only someone helped the boy find his way around,
Told him it was all going to be alright, that he was safe and sound,
That there were people who loved him, and wished he was safe,
Unfortunately, though, help had arrived a bit too late.
 
He’d lost all hope, shut everything down,
Left the cave he’d called 'home', where he waited to be found,
Some children out there have to raise themselves,
Crying to sleep at night, bottled screams kept on shelves.
 
Inside their hearts, inside their heads,
They fuel the small flame, and make sure it’s fed,
With dreams that seem so impossibly far away,
But maybe they could have that too, one day.
 
When you’re young, they assume that you don’t know pain,
Well, we feel real emotions, and they definitely aren’t feigned,
They think you don’t know what they say in hushed tones,
We pretend we don’t know, that we’re lost in our phones.
 
And as he walks home, the lectures longer and heavier,
Settling on his shoulders, they become a thick barrier,
Between what he’d done, and the reason as to why,
No one ever asked what happened on his side.
 
Or maybe they did, and he was too scared to tell,
Afraid they’d be angry, that they’d start to yell,
No one knew that this time, he didn’t start the fight,
All he wanted to do was leave, or to just take flight.
 
The words thrown his way had hit too close to home,
“Has no one ever loved you? Taken care of you?”
And the truth was
yes.
 
In silence, pain and suffering,
Through droughts and through floods,
Through unbearably bright days, and the darkest of nights,
He’d raised himself.
 
All
on
his
own.
 
But no one could ever know,
Because some secrets were better off left alone.

 Hanimaadhoo

-Cleverquacks

 

Sinking through the waves, gasping for air, the last thought I had was, “I wish I could swim.”

Okay, I’m sure I’ve gotten ahead of myself, so let’s start from the top.

I’m a young girl living in the island of Hanimaadhoo in the Maldives. There isn’t much to see here, apart from the beach, and rainbow corals thriving in the reef, but I think this island is perfect the way it is. The beauty in the simplicity here is unique, and worthy of adoration. The island is long, yet narrow, and everyone seems to know each other.

Growing up on an island like mine, I’m expected to know how to swim. I’d say it’s a bit stereotypical. Even though I live near the ocean, I might not know how to swim, and that’s not a problem.

Maybe I’m being a bit defensive. The thing is, I don’t know how to swim. I was never taught how to swim, as I had no one to take me.

Believe me, it sucks. While all my friends wade across the gentle waves, I sit by the shore, digging holes in the sand or collecting rocks and shells. If I’m going into the sea though, I have to take my childish kickboard along with me, which is rather embarrassing. I mean, swim a mile in my fins, won’t you? Surely, you’ll get what I mean then.

You might say I’m rambling too much, and although I agree with you, I also believe I have every right to say all this. But, for your sake, I’ll quench your thirst of curiosity, and get on with it.

My tale takes place when I agreed to join my grandmother for a beach clean-up. Since our island is known for its magnificent beaches, we civilians take pride in it and try our best to keep it clean. I was delighted, and enthusiastically agreed.

My grandmother was a wonderful lady. You could say she’s my second mother. Where my mother had been submerged in piles of work, grandmother had taken me under her wing. She fed me rice with clear fish broth, gave me warm hugs and sent me home smelling like rose attar. I am forever grateful for her generosity.

Jogging on the fresh sand, I scanned the beach for bits of trash. My grandmother trailed behind me, a dainty smile playing on her lips. She hummed an old lullaby, and although it was soft, it seemed loud, for the beach was silent apart from the call of the Koel birds, known as ‘Koveli’ by locals.

As we continued our work, some of my friends came over, inviting me to go collect the trash that started gathering in the reef. I glanced at my grandmother, and seeing the look of approval on her face, accepted.

Oh, what a horrible decision that was.

I knew I could not swim. And yet.

That’s how I ended up drowning. I’m sure everyone on the surface is worried about me. But while I drowned, I realized I heard voices, as if people were talking to me.

Then it hit me! I can talk fish!

Did I spring that on you too abruptly? I hope not.

I’m telling you this because I want you to know what they have told me. Trust me, I heard it!

” Young human,” a blue surgeonfish growled, startling me. “For years, we have watched you wander along the beach. You must protect the reef. You must keep your reef safe.”

“Why me though?” I wondered aloud.

“Because you’re the only unfortunate human who drowned today.” The surgeonfish snapped.

“He doesn’t mean that,” a moray eel piped in. “We’ve watched you take care of our beach for years.”

I stared at them dumbfounded, freaking out, a desire to breath burning in my chest.

“Time to send you back then,” the surgeonfish sighed.

Before I could think, I lost consciousness.

I’m now in the medical center of our island, under doctor’s orders, but my grandmother had brought me my notebook. If you’re reading this, it means I have grown old and passed away. Now the responsibility of the reef has been passed on to you.

 

20^th June 1969

Something I would never forget.

 A day I would never forget.

-Cleverpen

I still remember it as though it was yesterday. The day I, an overexcited seven-year-old, became an aunt. My eldest and first niece turned seven only a few days ago, but I have almost no trouble remembering every detail of that fateful night.
I awoke with a start, my sleepy eyes flickering towards the small, worn-out blue clock on the shelf across my bed. It showed that it was half-past midnight. I decided to seek refuge in the warmth of my mum, who was surely lying there beside me. However, when I looked around, I saw that in the place of my mum, was my grandfather, peacefully snoring away. Bewildered, I made my way down to the kitchen to see my grandmother cooking up a storm.

Really, I remember thinking, Who cooks at midnight?

"Why aren't you in bed?" My grandmother demanded, the brief look of confusion that clouded her eyes fading, as she reached for the salt.

Not bothering to reply, I fixed her with the stubborn glare I inherited from both of my parents. "Where's my mum?" I grumbled, rubbing my eyes.

"She's at the hospital," my grandmother whispered, a hint of a smile playing across her lips.

Oh no, I thought, that can't be good.

"What happened to her?" I asked, worry pulling my face down into a frown.

My grandmother laughed, and assured me that she was fine. No, she was more than fine. "Your sister's going to have the baby tonight."

Hearing the elating news, I felt a rush of excitement I had never felt before. I was finally going to be an aunt! Bouncing on my heels, I insisted on going, pajamas and all. My grandmother told me to go back to bed.

Now, I ask you, would you be able to sleep when a new member was joining your family? That was a whole new soul, probably seeing light for the very first time as I tossed and turned in bed. Eventually, because it was clear I wouldn't go back to sleep, my sleep-deprived grandmother let me play games on her phone. At around five in the morning, she got a call from my mum.

I still remember the exact time. It was 5:48 am on a beautiful Thursday morning, and my niece was born.

"Go get ready. We're going to the hospital," My grandmother smiled at me as I jumped around, the sound of my laughter waking up the whole house.

I got ready faster than everyone else, and waited downstairs, pacing around the door by the time the rest of the family joined.

After what seemed like an eternity, we finally got a taxi and arrived at the hospital. Talking to my cousin excitedly, we followed the adults around the hospital.

Again, I had to do some more waiting, which was torturously boring for an impatient child to do. All I wanted to do at that moment more than anything was to see my baby niece. Nevertheless, for her, I would've waited for the sun to rise from the west.

A while later, a nurse came out in a rush, holding a bundle of white cloth, followed closely by my brother-in-law. I ran towards them, and the nurse, although she was trying to leave quickly, let me hold the baby for just a moment, and quickly rushed away.

The moment I held my first ever niece was a truly magical moment. I didn't care about anything else in the world. All that mattered to me was this beautiful, sweet baby, wrapped up in white. This baby I was holding was probably going to be my best friend one day, and that was all that mattered.

My mother came out and gave me a hug afterwards, telling me how brave I was that night. That day, I truly felt like a big girl, a big sister. I was beyond excited for what was to come in the years ahead of me with my little niece.

My niece is now the age I was when I first met her. The exciting age of seven, at the start of the wonderful journey of first grade. She is now an older sister, with a sister two years younger than her who I love just the same. The past seven years of my life, filled with laughter, joy, and lots of chaos, which I'm grateful for, never let me have a dull moment.

Being an aunt has filled me with pride, and it's safe to say that the day I became one is a day I would never forget.

=]