My poetry collection, The Unseen

 My short story, Ambition and Rejection, was awarded the Gold Key in the 2020 Scholastic Art and Writing Awards. Ambition and Rejection is still the story I consider to be my best-written story, which was recognized in my region as the best work among my peers and nominated for a national award. Upon receiving the Gold Key, Ambition and Rejection was displayed in a few exhibitions in New Jersey. The story is now available to read under the editors' choice section of Teen Ink where it is published, while also uploaded on Wattpad and this website. My poetry collection, The Unseen, was awarded the Silver Key in the 2021 Scholastic Art and Writing Awards. While the Silver Key is not as prestigious as the Gold Key because works are not nominated or judged at the national level, I am still proud of the poems within this collection. I write because I simply cannot live peacefully without conjuring stories. Last year, I began writing a poetry collection that now stands at over a hundred poems, five of which were compiled into my Scholastic collection, The Unseen. Writing is a magical process and I am forever grateful to be able to pursue this form of art. Today, I am bringing along my collection, The Unseen in the exact order the poems were submitted last year. 

The Unseen

The Flowers of Us

This head of mine, bewildered by your words as they pierce into the insides of me. 

At last, the flowers have sprouted, and we will too.

Stay with me, my dear.

In this room, there is nothing to mourn.

The space of mirth fills with constant colors.

In your absence, I think of all that pleases me. 

Abashed by the sprinting wind across our faces, we capture the sun’s rays as they reflect on our eyes. 

You really are a reflection of my discrete thoughts. 

Struggling with pride, we know of our blessings. 

With the sweetest dreams, I walk through the garden of memory. 

The scent of lavender overrides each feeling.

Sitting on the chair of remorse and nostalgia, I look upon the shadeless streets in search of you.

Light as the air, you were constantly with me. 

Trees Still Stand

Our minds crumble to a twirling twist, and I could not hear it so. 

A drop of fear tingled with love’s scent under its soft whirlpool.

The laughing stream dwells out on 

the ground as my lips gleam of its pearl. 

I walk along the golden leaves, fading to brown. 

The bare tree sprinkles its leaves in its swooping dance. 

And the tree throws its leaves to my hand.

Withered leaves fall, erasing all its colors. 

A chill is screaming of its white joy. 

Thinking of its fun and frolic, 

leaves go on to fall in haste. 

Leaving us in our pool of thoughts, 

the trees still stand to extend its arms. 

And the leaves fall to its flutters of auburn remains. 

As we watch the months jumping in rest, 

Trees still stand, smiling away its leaves to mere branches. 

So The Words Shall Flow

Soft wafts of honey and lavender collide in a dancing sunbeam. 

They squirm beneath my feet and linger on in the depths of my mind. 

How the symphony of each music note dwells on the day 

over the swelling drops of bitter and thorn. 

Dear, it falls and throws and laughs and cries and 

whispers its musings upon ears far in watching. 

As words glean before my eyes, they flutter to worlds. 

I close my eyes, and yet the story is still there. 

Or is it a poem?

They have blurred lines of separation, for all I look upon. 

And love falls on. 

‘Tis a book well read even if there is no purpose. 

The songs sweep into my circus. 

Let it be a circus. 

I say it shall be. 

Let the lures enter my soul as hatred’s taste wipes away. 

I say it is a truth, and so it shall be. 

I Still Feel It

How the jingles fall on me. 

Hark it at it. 

Shall you not listen?

In draped shawls that caress over me, 

Such ebullient soup beams alive. 

I hear the sounds in my walk.

Even so when I am still in dreams. 

Dear, its songs blow and it speaks. 

What is it?

The hush of a rabbit, the lure of a fairy, the charm of a  scent gleaming. 

What shall it be?

Only you can propose. 

A fluttering curtain; soft rays lay beneath it. 

And so I feel it so in my quiet watching. 

What swerving winds can capture us in all airs. 

Of it is slow to move, I still feel it. 

I still feel it. 

I still know it. 

Of what it can be?

It creeps up on me only now. 

Where is the snow of the day?

If there can be wind, there may be elfins if I please. 

The End of the World

As the skies dip of gold, 

women creep beneath the cold. 

I danced about the roads gaily, 

sliding in my fancies. 

We murmur along our song, 

thoughts rushing through the mind. 

Trees laugh evermore and I 

sensed it every day. 

Even in the world’s end, candlelight still 

glimmered in the sinking holes.

The skies grew to one word, 

fading in the shadows of whispering remains. 

Light has hastily fallen to a curved stop. 

The clouds and trees sang a soft whisper, 

gleaning before at the earth descending. 

Only a grand entrance stood deserted;

A swerving scent filling the gates.