An ordinary river is continuously flowing,
Where different water species are roaming,
But none of them are really surviving,
They stay for a while and later end up dying.
Until one day a master came in,
Everyday he is deeply staring,
He noticed a fish that is not dying nor moving,
That made the river realize the fish is not leaving,
Together, the river and the fish began blooming,
People started recognizing, visiting and appreciating,
From then on both the river and the fish live to be seizing.

An artist's hands are never clean.
A smudge of black, a splash of green...
Worn and scarred, they present
to life and hard work, a testament.
Calloused & bent, yet skilled in their craft,
from holding a pen or a brush by the shaft.
Stained with paint or ink or charcoal,
an Artist's hands are the tools of his soul.

Before I act, I’ll think to ask
Where each simple action leads
By looking ahead (a useful task)
I’ll plant some amazing seeds

Results do not come unaware
Blown in by whim or chance
They come by taking loving care
And by thinking in advance

So look ahead I gladly will
My just rewards I’ll reap
I’ll practice at this helpful skill
Form a habit that I’ll keep

Many mistakes I can prevent
By thinking where this leads
“Looking Ahead” is heaven sent
To help me choose my deeds

Don’t set your sights on easy marks
Or aim your goals too close at hand
But reach up high, and eagerly
Use every skill that you command

Fear not what others say or do
Pursue your truth and your desire
If others mock, they will not feel
The moving force of reaching higher

What you expect, you will receive
Your fervent hopes are self-fulfilled
So set your course for greater things
With confidence now deep instilled

Achieve by day - by week - by year
Enjoy your dreams, ignite your fire
And show the truth to others now
The fiery power of reaching higher

I need
to continuously practice
responding to situations
according to my best principles of wisdom
because continuous practice
improves my skill
at striving for joy and happiness
in a wise way.

I used to tell myself that I was never a pretty girl
I allowed someone's opinion clout my world
I doubted everything I could do
I allowed someone's thought influence me too
Only now:
I am confident wearing my flaws
From head to toe, I know I have it all
I know I'm not perfect but, I indeed have great skills
To all those before, you no longer have the power of my wills

At the age of 10,
I enter a world manipulated by a smooth console
with knobs to weave myself into a different skin
level up with every ****,
and move with a certain skill.
At the age of 12,
I open a world stacked on my shelf.
Some world lying there parched like the desert,
accumulating dust and letting its texture fray away.
Whereas some lie there with their syllables
paving roads to adventure
and intoxicating the air with its tropic odor.
At the age of 14,
I scroll myself into another world;
where vision is pixelated
and lighting is perfect.
Instagram and Snapchat are the societies that exist,
ranking your position with the followers you keep.
Endorphins are the taps you receive
and filters are what you apply before you leave.
At the age of 16,
I pick up the VR goggles
and sleep under lucid rainbows
and a different constellation.
Everything is under my control,
the timezone;
a stimulation that feels so real.
At the age of 18,
I meet people of different hues,
discovering new worlds in them.
With different nations weaved on their skin,
and composition of carbon, nitrogen, spice and sweet ever so different in them.