Amalia

Karishma Gandhi of 11-E took part in the Taaleem Poetry Competition, 2014. She composed a resplendent poem  titled "Amalia" revolving around the theme 'Metamorphosis'.

Through cracked windows her form could be seen,
A skinny teenage girl scrubbing floors for money.
Hair damp in a bun, hands worn with mud,
Clothes in tatters, covered to the top with dust.
But there was a gleam in her no weather could kill,

A gleam that shone in her eyes of such professional skill.

 

The ringmaster calls, she stands upright,
The time has come, her gleam glows bright.
It engulfs her form and spreads her wings out wide,
The rush fills her veins, see her fly!
She walks out a different person,
Just for a while, her name is not her own.
With glittering eyes and hair done up,
Now she is Amalia the star of the show.
The stage her home, the audience parts of her soul.
Watch her leap to her thick supporters; the ropes.
Watch her fly in grace, what a sight!
As within her the gleam ignites,
It encompasses each being present, watching,
It shows them unadulterated, pure raw feeling.

The beat drops at its point,
Dead silence descends as she falls from up high,
See her glide among the colored swirls,
Weightless and fluid as she swings and curves,
Watch her passion flowing through the ropes,
Mesmerizing and Enchanting with every twist and turn.
Now she lands once again.
Folding her wings, taking in the fame,
Marking her place in beating hearts,
As Amalia, the Queen of  Circus Dance.

 

The judge's critique of Karishma's poem were as follows;

 

"Karishma’s poem contains a lovely story, well told. The theme of metamorphosis is well supported in the two completely different ‘lives’ of Amalia. Our first vision of the ‘skinny teenage girl scrubbing floors’ evokes sympathy, and then the direct voice to the reader to ‘see her fly’ and ‘watch her leap!’ commands our attention and respect as we see the freedom, grace and beauty of the performer.

 

The long first stanza mirrors the tension and pace of the action. Then the break and the ambiguity of ‘dead silence descends as she falls from up high’ suggests a possible disaster or return to her old life/reality followed by the relief as she lands safely, the ‘Queen of Circus Dance’.

 

There is a great deal of merit in this poem, Karishma. The more I read it, the more I like it. Well done"

 

The Mist

Tania Aravind of 11-E personifies an atmospheric element in her poem, "The Mist"...

It was amongst leaves whispering

That I took in the image of her fearful being

She glowered down at me and I felt my knees

Violently shake like waves crashing down on the still sea

 

Many a time I tried crossing paths with her

But hurriedly paced back for she was my fear

Many a time I beat my fist against my breast

For I kept failing my one test

 

One day I steeled my nerves

And stood before my life's curse

I intended to face her now

Stand straight and tall until before me she'd bow

 

I glared into her fearful face

And went right through her while myself I did brace

Stopped in surprise when I noted that she didn't resist

And then smiled for I realized that she was the mist.

 

 

An Alternate Version Of 'Missed' By P.G Wodehouse

  Here's a grim version of P.G. Wodehouse's light hearted poem 'Missed' penned by Vinaya Mary Prinse of grade 12-A.

You can view the original version by clicking the link below...

http://allpoetry.com/poem/8573249-Missed-by-P-G-Wodehouse

 

 

The clouds in the heavens were despondent

The air bore a stench of compost

My flannels were soiled and grimy

My heart was sorrowful and frustrated

The ladies, all heavily dressed,

Sat round looking on at ‘the match’,

In the tree tops, the birds chanted

‘You will be the victim of a star-crossed Friday’

 

My disruption the ill fated Friday

Had enticed me from the game- which was erroneous

The bee (that infuriating chronic hummer)

Was buzzing a chant

‘You will be the victim of a star-crossed Friday’

I was cursing that doomed day

When, ah, horror! There soared through the air an

Unbelievably possible catch

 

I heard in a stupor the bowler

Emit a self satisfied ‘Ah!’

The little boys who sat on the roller

Set up an expectant ‘Hurrah!’

The batsman with anguish from the wicket

Himself had begun to detach-

And I whimpered and moaned.

My life was over!

I had missed the easiest catch

I became the victim of a star-crossed Friday

 

O, ne’er, if I live to a million,

Shall I feel such a terrible pang

By the handful my hair

I tore with a wrench from my thatch

And my heart came to a halt

At the contemplation that I had missed that cursed catch

 

Ah, the bowler’s low, querulous mutter

Points loud, sorrowful day!

Oh, what a grave transgression!

My life is forlorn! My future will be dejected!

There is no reason for my very existence

I became the victim of a star-crossed Friday

I had missed the easiest catch!