MY POEMS AND ESSAYS
TAKING A MOMENT
Being a freshman in high school often feels like being trapped in a whirlwind, surrounded by an unfamiliar environment brimming with assignments, sports, and the adolescent urge to understand the world and make a difference. Looking at my lock screen, I am reminded that there is a lot to be done, and a lot to learn, and I feel a fleeting sense of time. The demands of schedules and a desire to be involved often limit my ability to fully experience the world's wonder amidst the continuous influx of news and responsibilities. In this video, I share some of the moments when I felt that it’s a good idea to take a step back and reflect from time to time, including watching the sunset or playing in the fall leaves. Beauty surrounds us, hidden in plain sight, waiting for us to discover it. For me, connecting with the environment that surrounds me helps anchor me during the tumultuous time of young adulthood. Finding beauty wherever you go helps give perspective. What am I to a tree that has lived to see far more than I ever will? High school students face a lot of noise in their lives. However, recognizing and embracing the beauty around us can bring calm and clarity, guiding us to what truly matters.
MY POEM: THE LONELY HOUSE
The family entered the empty house.
The house was nothing if no one called it home.
Just another cookie-cutter on the lane.
Its smell was lingering from the previous owners.
A bit of pasta, a hint of bread, but it mostly it just smelt musty.
Boring white walls. Paint chipping off the walls.
No one said
“I’m so glad to be home”.
A single chair was all that was remaining
The house was so sad and lonely.
When it thought it couldn’t get any worse, a family walked in.
As they finally succeeded in opening the rusted front door a cold breeze shocked the house.
Everything was dark and cold.
The family coughed as dust blew into their noses.
Someone to make him stand out.
A hollow vessel no more.
The family had a mother, father, two children and a young puppy.
So far, the house was a blank slate.
There was nothing in the house that made it theirs,
the house was still just a house.
They must get to work quickly.
Along with the new paint, the house began regaining its color as well.
They painted the daughter’s room a royal blue to reflect the ocean;
as she was a swimmer.
Now her room wasn’t a room it was her ocean,
she swam in it happily.
They painted the little brother’s room a bright yellow
as he loved being outside in the sunshine.
Now his room wasn’t a room it was his yard.
With lots of grass and warm sunshine.
Slowly the house became less lonely.
The mother and father’s room was difficult to choose,
but they eventually chose a common beige
to put up all their memories and the memories they would make.
Together. In their house.
Now every time they entered their room,
they were reminded of love and family.
Now every time the family entered the house, they called it home.
The house wasn’t alone anymore, it had a family that called it home.
With the light now shining throughout all the rooms
And family and friends filling the corridor
The house became a home.
THE POEM ABOVE
The poem I wrote above is a story about a house who becomes a home.
I think my mental health is reflected in this piece; When I wrote "it couldn't get any worse" I meant it quite literally, sometimes when you feel at your lowest, it's really hard to bounce back up. The 'family' in this piece, for me, represents my hobbies and my family. The light I wrote about at the end represents my view of happiness. Happiness to me is yellow like the sun rays, I think this is because every summer during swimming, the sun is always bright due to our pool being outdoors. Some of my favorite memories are made in the summertime at swim practice. Even with my family, I spend the most time with them during summer. Everyone has different views of happiness and this is mine.
I do not think I've ever had any problems with my mental health, but somedays when I do not feel good or happy I like to write or swim or play the piano.
I would like to thank my instructor from Johns Hopkins University who helped my through the process of writing this poem.
Roses in the wind
Roses blowing in the breeze
Flowers are pretty
Spring air smells lovely
Spring air smells like allergies.
Spring is versatile
Green leaves turning colors
Red, orange, yellow, green, brown
Pretty autumn leaf
RIDHI: A POEM ABOUT NAMES
Disclaimer: I do not have any feelings about the name Bobby or Roberta I was just thinking about names and I thought of those, I have never met a Bobby or Roberta and the names were there purely to contribute to the "bragging" of my name.
My name is elegant.
My name, Ridhi, is sweet or harsh depending on who says it.
When a teacher says my name EVERYONE looks at me, just in awe of how beautiful my name is.
They all whisper to each other bathed in my glory, aspiring to become something they know they can never be, they can only dream.
My name is so beautiful that when my friends say it, they just pass out from the grace, elegance, and charm.
When someone says my name angrily, everyone watching stares in a stunned silence
bestowed in the glory of the uniqueness of my name.
My name is perfect.
The number 5 in a set of ten.
The center. The spotlight. The median.
My name is that one perfect scoop of ice cream with all the right toppings
My name is a triangle.
My name is meant to be spoken with
My name IS
My name is quite unique.
I have never met a person with the same name as me before.
I have met people with a variation of my name (Riddhi, …)
But never the same as mine.
My biggest complaint about my name is how hard it is to pronounce
for some people.
It is an Indian originated name and the dhi in it
can be hard to pronounce
Especially for people who don’t speak Hindi or Marathi.
It normally takes at least two tries for people to pronounce it,
as long as I know it’s not completely off from my name,
it's ok with me because I know that if you do not speak Hindi or Marathi you physically cannot pronounce it.
Another complaint about my name is that whenever I go to India and meet people who actually
pronounce my name, they normally pronounce it the more popular way (Riddhi).
Then, I have to explain to them that that’s not my name. Sometimes even autocorrect tries to correct my name into Riddhi.
I wonder what I would’ve been like if I had a different name.
Would I still be the same person?
I wonder how much impact a name has on a person.
Maybe not a majority but definitely some.
What if I had been named Isha?
Isha is a common name.
My name is a
An Isha is an artist, a teacher, a painter.
I am definitely not a painter.
Or what about a name like Bobby, or Roberta.
I have never seen a child with these names.
It would be odd to see a child with a name such as Roberta.
Roberta is an accountant selling insurance.
Roberta is brown, a textured brown, not a wood brown,
but a fabric on a dress that is too thick and itchy,
Ridhi is a pink name, not an obnoxious hot pink, or a cheap fabric pink you see on plastic wands at the dollar store.
My name is a rose petal that falls on Dewey morning.
A stark contrast to a Roberta.
A Bobby is a mellow yellow.
Bobby is a quirky way to doll up Bob.
A Bobby is a Kindergarten teacher that gives out candy on Fridays.
I am not a kindergarten teacher.
My name means good fortune.
I had the good fortune of having a beautiful and unique name.
When I was younger I did not pay that much mind to my name.
I knew it was there.
I knew when someone said it I was to pay attention.
My parents would tell me stories about my name.
. Those stories had really powerful people who were representing my name.
I liked those stories
The idea I could be something great.
But beyond that
I wasn’t as mindful as I am now.
Now I recognize the strength and power a name has.
The ties it has to family
A name is a powerful thing.
EMILY DICKINSON INSPIRED RIDDLES
Recently I have read the riddle/poem A Route of Evanescence by Emily Dickinson and I have written some riddles inspired by it!
A flamboyant mirage
Motley, but created by the adverse
A mosaic of symbolism
It’s apathy and endlessness
The petrichor diminishing or accreting your childlike wonderment
You are free for a brief moment
Wishing it could last forever
Hopefully it's not just another hallucination.
Who are you to me?
I should feel irreplaceable
Perhaps I am
Ship of Theseus raising peculiar questions.
Am I paranoid?
Who are you?
I have been here
But alas, I have myself fooled
I don't know you
I have never been here
Answer: Déjà Vu