Poetry Corner
In honor of April being National Poetry Month, we are excited to share a few poems written by Megha Sood and Aarohi Talati
Dance of Letters and Music of Words
The elegant script of
calligraphy on yellowed paper,
marred only by
the spots of tears
that had once been.
The curves in every letter,
distorted through the glass,
a plea for help,
an attempt at survival.
Apart, the letters were beautiful,
but together, dangerous.
The loops of black ink
played a dance with each other,
twisting and interlocking,
moving gracefully.
Yet there was no mistaking the music that played,
of darkness and depression and loneliness.
The loneliness of a man,
who had sent out a message,
a note in a bottle,
in hope of rescue.
The loneliness of a man,
stranded at sea,all those he loved dead
all those he craved far.
The loneliness of a man,
who hoped touse his dearest possession
to save himself.
The loneliness of a man,
whose dearest possession was faith,
disguised as a piece of paper,
a pen, and an empty bottle.
This loneliness transcended through worlds,
appearing in the music,
the music of the words,
at which letters danced
and black ink cried.
The music of the words,
at which paper groaned
to take the weight
of letters both harsh and soft,
dancing forever.
Yet the sacrifice of the paper
and the joy of the letters,
the sadness of the ink
and the music of the words,
did nothing for the lonely man
who was long gone
when the note in the bottle
had found a rescue.
The lonely man had gone,
cursing the note in the bottle
for listening to its music
and not to his desperation.
When the man
was finally found
all that remained was a skeleton,
clutching another bottle,
another pen,and another paper,
in the hopes that they could do
what the first could not,and
stop the music.
an angel cried
the light in my life
came from the lightning
born of the violent storm inside of me.
my heartbeat followed the rhythm
of the thunder,
the waves crashing against my soul.
i thought i was free
(my hands weren’t tied)
but i couldn’t see the chains
that weighed down my legs.
my eyes were open—
yet i was watching the world blind.
an angel couldn’t endure my pain
and she cried for me
and as her tears fell on my face
i wondered
why my own tears
had never been this sweet.
they were the stardust
that i had never known
i craved.
i’ve felt now, the sun on my lips.
it passed them, went onto my soul
as the silver and gold flames
trickled down my throat
i felt the warmth
that i thought i always had
galaxies (my krishna)
when i looked up at you
i saw stars in your eyes and
galaxies through your parted lips
as if the entire universe was
ingrained into your being.
it was then that i
made you my world—
you were heaven’s
and i was yours.
A found poem from City of Heavenly Fire by Cassandra Clare
Displayed in deadly fans of gold and steel and silver,
the glow of the broken moons.
Climbing roses in red and gold and orange;
waiting to be consumed by the fire like a medieval saint.
Death on death, and blood in the streets.
Motorcycles gleaming with chrome and bone and onyx,
decked in silver armor.
Infinite sorrow;
the last to kneel.
A pride that transcended the emptiness of gestures.
Heaven’s fire.
Kiss of desperation
as diaphanous as a sheet of ice;
Insubstantial as air.
The wishes of our hearts are weapons;
staring into the dark heart of a black hole.
Dark in the land under the hill,a tattoo of disbelief.
The purr and rumble of the dark;
pepper thrown into the heart of a fire.
An artist of lies,
ready to stab and to betray.
Modern Snow White in blood, char, and ice;
the last of the embers
an orchestra of fire.
About Aarohi Talati
Aarohi Talati, 17, is a senior at American Heritage. This fall, she will attend the University of Miami and is planning on majoring in microbiology and immunology to make her way to med school. One of her greatest passions is writing— she writes often in her free time, ranging from short poetry to short stories to chapters out of a novel. Singing and dancing are also both things she enjoys, and she is almost done with both the Bharatnatyam curriculum and Hindustani classical music curriculum.
Poems by Megha Sood
Heritage
Those shriveled
wrinkled fingers
passing on that family album
with a fleeting touch+
shaking voices
singing the lullaby at night
and the sparkling stories
jumped hoops from generations,
is scattering the wisdom
worth eons
in mere minutes
Those bony taloned hands
singing and crocheting
the praises of the holy ancestors
is bringing back live
the drawing etched
in the old forgotten caves
Those bay leaf
cinnamon-laced fingers
doused and soaked
turning the
wrapped yellow
broken paper
of centuries-old recipes
is keeping the taste alive in the
dying taste buds
That wisdom in the scriptures
spanning the gates of
Times
Our heritage,
Our roots,
Our road to salvation.
Ask a child, ask a butterfly
Every small step counts. Every small gesture matters.
Kindness comes in all forms. Accept and embrace it when you see it.
Pass it forward. It is like the flowing river, shaping and
changing the lives of those who come along its way. Keep flowing and Keep growing.
Life never stops from growing nor from making mistakes.
You stop and stagnate like the ditch of stinking water.
Flow like a waterfall. A beautiful sight in its glory.
Life is movement.
Change is a necessary transformation.
Ask a child, ask a butterfly.
About Megha Sood
Megha Sood is a two time State-level winner of the NJ Poetry Contest 2018/2019, a national level poetry finalist in Poetry Matters Prize 2019, Honorable mention in Pangolin Poetry Prize 2019, and Finalist in Adelaide Literary Award 2019. She is a contributing member at Free Verse Revolution, Whisper and the Roar and Poetry editor at Ariel Chart and Mookychick. Sood has over 350 works in journals and featured in 35 print anthologies by the US, UK, Australian, and Canadian Press.
