Every little thing around, a piece of poetry.
Identifying its right form, a life's mystery.
Blending ourselves into its verses, a task that needs mastery.
Singing it aloud and heartily, a great victory.

Cheer up now, being too little in the eyes of people is nothing compared to what your thumb can do,
Always remember that you can make a moon disappear at the back of your thumb in just a wink of an eye.

So when you feel that you're of less importance, that's nothing to be really scared of.
There  are few things little things that we don't often see its worth but cause unimaginable destruction, Just like how a tiny dew drop
and a distant sun ray from the sun can burn a whole forest.

I planted a seedling
Thoughtless, unplanned, without a care
Now a magnificent tree
Brightening the dark forest of my memories
Standing tall, pine needles displayed
In rain or shine, winter or blaze
Maybe I’ll plant more friends for her
Or maybe she’ll be set on fire
But I hope after living my life
A colorful forest of trees is what I’ll find.

I was going to compose a parallel poem
mirroring the ways you show you care
but you have made it evident
that I will never be your home.

You would
thoughtfully answer my never-ending stream of questions
carry me to bed with a blissful blanket of sleep and softness
grant me the honor of wearing anything you owned, and smile at my choices
actively correspond with me, more in the span of a few weeks than your standard for a lifetime
trust me to take care of your bright-green banana-of-a-boy
assist and twist and crack my spine further
track and plot my heartrate to find a trend in tempo and tone
and always provide the nearness I need to breathe
and feel
and be
myself.

I did not need to pen a poem
to know that you care, albeit reticent
but you have made it evident
that I will never be your home.

I would
eat the squishy grapes for you
warm your cold hands
share with you the last of my rice and beans
massage your stiff neck
get up from comfort to pour you a glass of cool water
assist and twist and crack your spine further
treat you to your favorite ramen, donating my extra noodles
tiptoe across the creaky floorboards to not stir you
and always give you the space you need to breathe
and feel
and be
yourself.

Steam rising upward
Blurs the lamp in your glasses,
The tea is perfect.

In prison
when you have no
money, and you can't
buy commissary, and
the hours and the days drag by
like a tortoise searching
a garden.
It's the little things that
make the time bearable.
Someone gives you a package of
noodles or a cup of coffee,
or a bar of good soap.
Kindness in hell goes a long way.
It's the simple pleasures that
I took for granted
that I relish now:
Steaming hot water,
a bed with a real mattress,
and a library with thousands
of books to read.
I have writing paper,
ink pens, and reading glasses to
see with; it could be worse.

You'll find
happiness
when you start to
appreciate the
little things
in life.