The Pinnacle

Rising to towering heights
growing since prehistoric ages,
like castles of primeval times
that handle the changes of a growing world,
still retaining their grandeur and might,
but devoid of design and organization
innately established, yet flawless in pattern
They collect the cascading crystals,
careening from the clouded sky-
becoming smoother, fewer indentations,
more treacherous for explorers to climb
Countless have dared to venture forth
to subdue nature's most potent edifice,
battling surges of snow, pyramids of rocks
glaciated valleys, sheets of shattered ice...
Blanketed by a cover of silvery mist
unfazed by the bitter wind that rushes past
with a summit comprised of pristine snow flurry
is the lofty prestige of mountains
unflustered by the passage of time-
a pinnacle of glory
nature's power having amassed

Artist

She sits herself on her piano grand,
with glittering, soulful, fervent eyes
that make her view an idealistic land
that conceals the world with its artful guise

She gently smiles at the striking tune,
she sways as she unearths its true nuance,
her spirits tell she's over the moon
although she seems to be in a satiated trance

Her cheeks incarnadine from pure passion,
her fingers trembling slightly from sheer thrill
at being able to express her emotions in her own fashion-
through tones, reverberation and many a trill

She savors each moment and every note,
with a grace and ardor so very intrinsic
Her unwavering vehemence seems to devote
every second of her time to the art of music

When she ends with a flourish and a hesitant smile
she rises rather dubiously, and stands
oblivious to the applause of her enthralling style,
she remains landlocked in her visionary land

This Above All- to thine own self be true

This is what I wrote for an essay writing competition, on the topic 'To thine own self be true'

The quote ‘To thine own self be true’ is the piece of wisdom given by Polonius to his son Laertes in the play ‘Hamlet’, written by William Shakespeare. Polonius tells this to his son before the latter is leaving for Paris, and cautions him to avoid borrowing or lending money, to listen more than talk, and to avoid bringing excessive attention to himself. Although bits of enlightened wisdom, in the following context, these words become articles of irony and satire. Polonius proves to be a suspicious father, sending people to surveil his son and daughter, Ophelia.

While satirical in the context of the play, there is actually a very deep meaning hidden under the layers of pretentiousness by which Polonius conducts himself. To be true to yourself is to act in conformity with your nature, ideals and beliefs with which you live, and to refrain from partaking of self-deception. It means having the valor to accept who you are, and not entirely heed to the suggestions of others, thinking you will be accepted or admired if you do. Self- esteem and dignity all arise when you behave in a manner that reflects your values and personality, and self-doubt arises when you don’t. In addition, when you respect yourself, so will society- they will regard you as confident and assured of your opinions and views; this is a trait not seen much in today’s community.  

Examples of being true to oneself are eminent in literature. One example is in the story ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ by Harper Lee- Scout Finch. Being a young, unusually thoughtful girl, she has nurtured her individuality, moral sense and perception, without being pressurized by the social hypocrisies that afflict her town. On the first day of school, although Scout is castigated and victimized by her teacher’s incompetence for being able to read and write at such a young age, she adheres to her principles, and does not refrain from doing so in order to please her teacher. She continues reading and improving her skills, without giving her teacher any more thought, despite incurring her anger several times. To be true to yourself takes courage, and requires you to be inward-looking, just and sincere. It does not imply that you are uncivil or disrespectful, it simply means that you do not let others define your standards or your decisions.

Similarly, in the novel ‘The Little Prince’ by Antoine de Saint- Exupery, the narrator had been a child with a different perception and mindset when compared to the conventional way of thinking. This insight did not leave him in adulthood, and was a major reason of his isolation from the prevailing crowd. Rather than looking at the monetary or objective side, he would look at the imaginative, instinctive part. Rather than taking an ordinary occupation, he decided to follow his passion and become a pilot who embarked on adventurous conquests. Although this trait of his detached him from society, he lived by it, and preserved his uniqueness and originality. The narrator revered his own opinions, and refused to change in order to blend in with the widespread populous. He was true to himself.

Straying away from literature, another typical example is that of Walt Disney- American director, animator and producer. He made up his own mind regarding his career and interests, and recognized and almost solely developed his distinctive talents, which have culminated into the touching Disney films every generation sees today. Despite the fact that he faced enough hardships to make anyone revert back to the ordinary, he adhered to his tenets of being singular and noteworthy, and made a massive difference to the world. He faced incessant problems within his family, experienced bankruptcy that threatened his entire profession, and had nearly verged on a nervous breakdown. While the difficulties and debts he brought upon himself during World War 2 compelled him to abandon his career and creative pursuits, he followed his admirable value system of willpower and resolution, and continued directing and cartooning, nevertheless. Although he had been a figure of ridicule by his peers during childhood, and by critics for the rest of his life, he never let their deprecating criticism sway his code of life or his decisions. He demonstrated honesty and genuineness in the face of adversity- highly laudable characteristics that make him an epitome of morality to oneself.

The drawbacks of not being true to yourself can prove to be adverse, as seen in the story ‘Great Expectations’ by Charles Dickens. Pip, the protagonist, was naturally sympathetic, benevolent and possessed a naturally good conscience from childhood. However, shortly after meeting the beautiful maiden Estella and her step mother Miss Havisham, Pip’s longing for educational and social advancement overshadowed his natural integrity. After being the receptor of a perplexing fortune, his utopian desires had been fulfilled, and he gave himself to learning to be a gentleman in London. This idealism of rising up the social hierarchy led him to perceive the world narrow mindedly, and to forget those who loved him the most- his sister’s husband and Biddy. He began to treat them coldly and indifferently, only to be crushed by loneliness and dejection in the later stages of his life. In this case, Pip had not been true to himself- he had let his desires of betterment demolish his individuality, and had succumbed to the thought of escaping poverty and illiteracy. His disparaging actions towards his family had not reflected his genuine self, and had only resulted in him being miserable as he had shunned whatever had been attainable to him.


Therefore, you must be true to the best that exists in your nature, and live your life undeviating from your aspirations and conscience. We just need to be silent enough to listen to ourselves without judgment, and enduring enough to accept the truth once we envision it. Being true to yourself is necessary to gain self-acceptance, and thus Polonius’s quote- ‘this above all: To thine own self be true’, rings with undeniable truth.

Armed with Imagination

She attempted to conjure a backdrop intense,

which took ages, but she finally found

one, as it suddenly appeared in her mind-

of reluctance to lose it, she hurriedly penned down-

A sinister silence pervaded the air,

the sky devoid of the sun's flaming glare

Darkness and shadow seemed to haunt

The trees arched down, somber and gaunt

Whatever faint moonlight was hidden by a cloud,

the wind whispered piercing and loud

I can't find my way back to where I began,

my roam had been enacted without a plan

Indistinguishable was every turn,

the sudden hush was making my stomach churn,

working myself up into a frenzy of dread,

that grew with every step I would tread

Adrift and astray, had gone my path

leaving me victim to solitude's wrath

My eyes scanned the scene for a mark,

that I would be rescued from the dark

that was so perplexing when I traipsed alone

wandering into the great unknown

Waves of ideas began to crash

upon a mind that initially held none

They rolled as inspiration, never to cease,

as she drafted them down one by one

Noise continually pressed in on every side,

people walked purposefully with confident strides

Vehicles traveled along the street,

the gravel echoed with the pounding of feet

As I searched my way out with growing unease,

perspiring despite the gentle breeze,

anxiety hanging over my clouded mind,

that seemed absolutely unable to find

a logical response to my current plight

of disarray and mayhem mingled with fright

Each road and building were irksomely akin,

in endless circles I continued to spin

as people walked unfaltering, never to pause,

appearing too occupied to halt, going for such a cause,

My eyes scanned the crowded scene for a sign,

anything, anything enough benign

that could save me from this muddling ordeal,

that's beginning to seem rather surreal

A facade of determination, armed with her thoughts,

she sailed on with whatever her imagination had brought...

Oceanic Relic

First published in "On the Rusk"

It is corrugated, winking in the gleam,
mildly moistened as it lies on my palm
Ridges and whorls seem to stream...
of the brackish ocean, it wears a balm
It appears to perpetually scream
of the crashing waves upon the sand-
a calming sound, tranquil, serene,
music of the sea, it possesses a band
of instruments that play only to your ear,
faraway melodies light years away
So soothing and sweet, quick to be endeared
bringing colors to the eye- blue, gray,
sapphire, periwinkle, truly aesthetic hues,
colors that alleviate tension, as well as the tunes
shifting a mentality to mollified from blue,
as you envision the water lapping like dunes
Pretty to look at- of carnation pink
spiraling inwards, flawless to feel
as if it had spent time to adorn and prink
itself with unconcealed zeal
It emanates a scent faint and saline-
a fresh, invigorating smell,
It impacts every sense, you can perceives the signs
of the beauty in my palm- a coastal sea shell

Darkness

Following the sound of my voice, she sat next to me. "Describe the color blue," she ordered.

I thought for a few minutes, although it felt like several lives. "Blue is the color of the sky during the day, when it's not dominated by clouds that hide its beauty, or when it's not governed by sunlight that makes its soft tones seem blinding."
I visualized all the beautiful sights I had perceived, and how blessed I was to have been able to.
"Blue is the color of the waves of the sea, of the gushing waterfalls, of the pristine lakes that haven't been tampered by human hands. It's the shade of the corals on the ocean floor, home to shoals of fish. It's the color of the butterfly that settled on the fragile petals of the flowers we grow. It's the color of the starfish we almost stepped on when we were roaming about in the beach."
She settled back, sated. "That was nice," she said, a wide smile across her face. "Now describe pink. It's my sister's favorite color, but she can never depict it to me."
These words made me inexplicably sad. Her sister was too young.
"Pink... it's a color most people associate with girls. It's a hue of the azaleas and tulips that you smell, whenever we take a stroll into the garden. It's the vibrant shade of the flamingos you heard splashing about on the other side of the lake. It's the color of the sour guava fruit you ate yesterday- a rather dull shade, but still pink."
Once again, she seemed satisfied. But I wasn't.
"Your other senses can see for you, remember that," I told her, dubious.
"Yes, I know that. How else do I envision whatever you illustrate to me? I know that vision and myself are incongruous, but you can never know. Describe orange."
Sighing, I continued. "It's the hue that the sun imparts to the sky at sunrise and sunset. It's the coloration of leaves in autumn. Its..."
She let me speak uninterrupted for hours, but I couldn't be wholehearted.
I wished I could give her more. I was in the dark, and so was she.

Triumph

It's milky white, shimmering weak
oscillating gently with the breeze
glistening against the landscape bleak-
arid, barren, devoid of trees

It appears haunting, rather eerie
yet much more gentle than it may seem
Though its expression is rather dreary,
it is dejected, with low esteem

Though it constantly sways with the gusts
that plague its vague and sorry form
it has to linger, it really must,
so it remains and withstands the storm

And slowly, although it takes quite a while
it becomes more solid, embellished by hues,
despite the fact it hasn't advanced a mile
it had gone further, it has grew

It reached the stage when shades so pale
had darkened- solidified, every thread        
Its stature turned from delicate to hale
dim pink turned to a vivid red

From timorous to proud, its head held high
beginning to work with unconcealed zeal,
its aims accomplished, reaching towards the sky
as a nebulous dream ultimately became real

Wintry Heat

First published in "On the Rusk"

Its surface is bathed in pearly light
The air encased by its glistening glow
The wind blows delicately, soft and frosted
until it's felt- the first silvers of snow
The terrain has been transformed from green to white
the sky from aqua to a stormy gray
crystals cascade from above-
the clouds which shield the golden rays
Like sugar- white, sweet and smooth
that coats the branches of the lime green trees,
creatures retreat into their refuge
fear keeping them hidden- of the icy freeze
Within a few hours of the magnificent snow,
on the earth, has been embedded a crust
that shifts and dances like dunes of sand
pirouetting with the glacial, biting gusts
As the clouds parted, sunlight began to shine,
as the snowfall began to slow its pelt
winter defrosted, began to crawl away,
sunshine dominated, the chill began to melt
The air is sweltering, brimming with heat
turning my face crimson from peach
the ground glaring, vivid, radiating warmth,
to cool down- the world would vehemently beseech
Birds fly about, despairing, craving a sip
of the invigorating water, which is now a dearth,
creatures roam for miles, longing to gulp
from ponds, which are now sparse on the earth
The sun beats down with quelling force,
amber commands the sky, rather than blue
The air is unmoving, humid, sultry,
animals covet for the breeze that once blew
Then, gradually, the heat starts to drop,
the shivery atmosphere commences its unfurl,
creatures return to their caves in relief,
as the word is soaked in the light of a pearl