A Tale of Two Odes

Ode to a Shell: That Burning Star 

Image by wbritten via Getty Images. 

I once on the beach playfully 

and gleefully let time pass 

when I saw this dawn of a shell 

burst with burning hues. 

A burning sun in the background 

Of a stardust constellation. 

I placed it on the palm of my hand 

and saw 

it’s form 

like that of a thousand roses 

compelled to fit in a slender glass vase. 

And its texture like that of porcelain teardrops 

drenched over an ice sheet 

when the skies are in despair. 

This glorious shell 

that amasses the azure blanket 

and pulls on the edges of the fishing net 

containing creatures of red and yellow. 

It screams 

and yet it whispers 

to my ear, 

the journey 

of how it got here 

and where it has come from, 

its listeners 

bow down in awe. 

As when an explorer has found lost gold, 

and as when a dog has found a long-buried bone, 

so have I found such preciousness 

and value in this sole shell, 

whilst I fought the urge 

to burrow a hole 

696,340 km deep, 

lest the seas demand its return 

and bring it to some other world 

than this. 

I hear the echo of my name 

in the wind 

signaling 

our departure 

as I debated whether 

or not 

to bring such opulence, 

that burning star, 

to my unworthy abode. 

I hear my name yet again, 

sensing such urgency 

in the tone. 

I got up and ran 

not realizing the shell 

still lay where it was 

in the palm of my hand. 

And what moral 

might a reader like you 

acquire from this brief tale 

of a heavenly shell 

and a plain-featured girl? 

Perhaps it is this: from that blue Tesla 

to a dilapidated tow truck, 

the journey of the shell 

will continue 

as it has always been.

But as for this girl, 

who oh so found 

the preciousness in 

a simple shell 

which beachgoers 

oh so often pass by 

and pay no mind to, 

this is just the beginning.

We were tasked to write an ode as part of our alternative assessment for our English class (an ode, by the way, resembles a poem that serves to extols a seemingly simple, everyday object). With the task at hand, I decided to draw out inspiration from our recent trip to Masbate, a province known for its serene beaches and seafood, and its annual event, Rodeo Masbateño, where the province holds a week-long festival showcasing its cattle and livestock industry (such a shame, however, that we did not get the chance to witness the celebration ourselves).

A Masbateño cowboy riding on a bull during the Rodeo Masbateño. Image by bicoltourism.ph. 

It didn't take much thought when I finally decided to dedicate my ode to a shell. Having understood the patterns of my skittish writing sparks, I started working on the assignment early in the morning of the day of the deadline - which, has seemed like the only point in time wherein I receive the most adrenaline rush to keep me writing nonstop for hours, compared to writing days before the set deadline where most of the minutes were spent staring on a blank page and a blinking cursor in MS Word.  

A few hours later of eyes fixed onto a bright laptop screen, roosters crowing every now and then, a cool and steady airstream from the fan directed right onto my face, laying in my PJs on my still unmade bed, and a barren stomach, I have finished my craft. And this piece of mine, was the ode you read above. I was satisfied with how it turned out, and have submitted my work in the submission box, 8 hours before 5 pm. 

Now, I know I said I was satisfied, but you know one of those feelings you get after staring at something you made for so long, that you start to see all its flaws and imperfections? Well, I started to feel just that. I began to sense a thought entering my mind, what if it wasn't enough? This thought I battled with for quite some time, more or less, but soon took it into consideration. What if my work really wasn't enough? I became convinced. But first, I needed someone to tell me just that - that it needed more tweaking, that it needed just a little bit more work, that it could be better, just for confirmation. It was just an ongoing notion in my mind ever since I transferred to PSHS, I can't submit a mediocre output. I can't, I can't , I can't. And while it does make me hold on to one of the school's core values, that is, to strive for excellence, the fine line between "I can't submit mediocre" and "I just need to do my best" sometimes becomes unclear, becomes a blur. And suddenly, that fine line doesn't remain so fine for long. Before I know it, I have made myself a slave under the increasing pressure of striving for this sole misconception -- perfection. 

Torn between what course of action to take, that is, to let my ode be or to polish it more, I asked for the opinions of my peers regarding it, to which I received healthy criticisms (which, is one of the things I love about the Pisay community, one receives healthy, constructive criticism when asked for it), and upon hearing their comments, I decided to improvise, and thus, here is my second ode: 

Ode to a Shell: That Burning Star

I once lay on the beach

Watch as the heavens

Spiral in tones of corals ablaze

Of oceans in chasmic surrender.

That white haze afloat

As if to obey the current controlling,

Those glistening stars

As if to mimic the soft swaying arms

Of mysterious deep-sea lanterns.

And as I lay and watch the sky play sea

The pacific waves met with the shore.

Then,

A seashell appeared.

'Twas a burning star

Bursting with hues of dawn,

Like a golden planet

In the background of a

stardust constellation.

It’s form

like that of a thousand roses

compelled to fit in a slender glass vase,

A prison.

Those thorns piercing

Through the petals of the others

Yet there was beauty in it all.

Texture like that of porcelain,

Of porcelain teardrops

Drenched over a broken glass

When the cosmos are in despair.

This glorious shell

that amasses the azure blanket.

It screams

and yet it whispers

Its long-enduring journey.

Falling,

Falling stars

Reverberating through

such horizonless abyss

Such that the sound of oceans in an uproar

Grow ashamed,

And its listeners bow down in awe.

And I fought the urge to burrow a hole

696,340 km deep

lest the seas demand its return

and bring it to some other world than this.

But alas

What right does a damsel like me have

To devoid such opulence,

That burning star,

From traveling to wherever it pleases.

For I am unworthy

And it,

heavenly.

And so it shall.

That burning star,

Such seashell

Never in all time

Have I seen a matching beauty

One which was comparable

To this

And have such beauty

Taken away from me

In bliss.

An image of the sunset at Palani Beach Park, Balud, Masbate. 

These two odes have such opposing characteristics -- one is marked with joy, with new beginnings, and finding happiness in the simplest things; and one is established upon a pained partition, such that the speaker grieves in the loss of the object she holds dear to her heart. A change of tone, a change of imagery, a change of resolution. 

If I were to ask you, dear reader, which one of the two odes do you prefer more? Or perhaps, in which of these odes do you find yourself? 

- Sodenitte