Skip to main content

She hopes, I exist

 


Diya Geomin is a grade 12 student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala, India. She wrote the following poem about a close friend of hers who is struggling with depression. Notice how the problems of the other person intertwine with those of the poet persona.

 

She hopes, I exist

By Diya Geomin

 

She hopes to see the better world

She hopes to know her true self

That nobody, even herself, knows 

She hopes to find a new fantasy 

To escape some time alone.

 

She hopes to hide under the stairs

To cry out her pain somewhere no one cares 

She hopes to escape into her books.

With the pennies she doesn't have.

 

She hopes to run away to an unknown place.

Full of surprises, waiting to be startled.

Waiting to be claimed, owned and used

Be with every lover her books could offer.

 

Yet to her dismay, she finds none.

It's only herself, all alone

Hoping for some twisted ways to escape

Hanging by a thread waiting to be dropped.

 

Just like me, she dreams

Dreams left unfulfilled 

Only to haunt her soul forever 

 

Oh, how ironic that you hope,

Unlike me, who let the shadows consume my mind.

You hope and hope until there is nothing left 

You believe in destiny, not yet proven.

You go with the flow and be exhausted.

 

Unlike me who's covered in the black ink

Hope is dangerous, it kills you from within.

Until all there is left are our tears

The tears of betrayal.

 

So, my love, I'm helpless like that

Waiting to be devoured by the darkness within.

So, while you do, please hope for me too. 


 xZx

Comments

  1. Some of the readers of her poetry would in actuality find this poem to be their own saga, experiencing excruciating pain and hopelessness. For others, it could be self- discovery with eluding solutions.
    Overall, an excellent poem from an young sojourner.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you so much. It is indeed a perspective of a person who hoped too much but got nothing in return. But they still continue to encourage others to hope even though they got nothing from it.

      Delete
  2. Very intense. Maybe she should speak to me.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you so much for your appreciative words.

      Delete
  3. Beautifully crafted words! It's difficult to find such friends today. The lines are deeply melancholic and reassuring.

    ReplyDelete
  4. I love the last line - I'm helpless like that, Waiting to be devoured by the darkness within - it has as deep sense of sadness to it, a sense of reality about hopelessness and wonder. Very moving..

    ReplyDelete
  5. This poem reminds me of a thought that was written on the bulletin board of our classroom in Sawan. It said- " Never lose hope. Hope is a rope that swings you through life". Being from a Gurjar ethnicity, it was not easy to have a warm rapport with my teachers. So once my mathematics teacher read that thought and told me very sarcastically-"Beta! Tum bhi HOPE karte rahna, ek din zaroor maths mein pass ho jaoge".And guess what? I failed over and over again😊. Somethings never change, you see. Nostalgia strikes!

    Yours Last bencher:)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. A lot of things could be different if we talked personally with people concerned. For example, if you had developed some sort of a rapport with that teacher, the entire situation would have been a lot different.

      Yet, I'm happy you're able to smile over these things now. All the best. I wish I could talk to you personally.

      Delete
    2. This poem is about two people who are similar in character except for their perspective of hope. One of them is very hopeful while the other hoped too much and got nothing in return even though she encourage the other two hope. Because, could it be just her or is everyone unlucky in life?...

      Delete
    3. If you start establishing contacts with people, you'll realise how sad most lives are!

      Delete
  6. The poem tugs at your heart strings.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Teaching is a Relationship

I met Ms Dhanya Ramachandran a few years ago at one of the centralised evaluation camps of CBSE. Then we met again every year for the same purpose until I retired from teaching officially. I’m not sure whether it’s her Mona Lisa smile or her commendable efficiency with the job that drew my attention more to her. Last week I came to know that Dhanya (let me take the liberty of calling her so) received an award for her contributions to the cause of education. I wished to bring her to a wider audience for the cause of education and hence requested an interview. What follows is the result. Since it is an email interview, it has its limitations. Nevertheless, Dhanya comes alive here. Over to the interview.  Tomichan : Hi Ms Dhanya Ramachandran, please introduce yourself for the sake of the readers of this blog. Dhanya : Hello. I am Dhanya Ramachandran, a passionate educator with diverse background. My career journey began in journalism, but life took me on a different path, leading

The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

  'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below.  Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl

Nishagandhi – Queen of the Night

Disclaimer: A friend tells me this flower is Kalyana Saugandhikam (garland lily) and not Nishagandhi.  Finally one of my Nishagandhis has bloomed. Here’s the picture.  I have four pots of this plant which is quite exotic as its very name implies. Belonging to the Cactaceae family, this flower goes by different names. The Indian name ‘Nishagandhi’ comes from two Sanskrit words: nisha = night & gandh: fragrance. This flower blooms in the night and wilts as dawn breaks. I took the above pic just before sunrise this morning. I have waited for nearly half a year now for this blossoming. It’s not easy to get these flowers which have a divine touch. It is known as Brahma Kamala, Bethlehem Lily, and the flower of healing. The Chinese consider the Nishagandhi flower to be lucky. I consider it as cosmic flower. The Nishagandhi has many medicinal properties. Ayurveda uses it for treating diabetes, breathing disorders, throat infections, digestive problems, and so on. Of course, I don’t

Why do you fear my way so much?

Book Review Title: Why do you fear my way so much? Author: G N Saibaba Publisher: Speaking Tiger, New Delhi, 2022 Pages: 216 G N Saibaba breathed his last on 12 Oct 2024 at the age of 57. It may be more correct to say that he was killed by the government of his country just as Rev Stan Swamy and a lot many others were. Stan Swamy was an octogenarian, suffering from severe Parkinson’s disease and other ailments, when he was arrested under the draconian UAPA. He died in prison at the age of 84 labelled by his government as a traitor. G N Saibaba was a professor of English in Delhi University when he was arrested in 2014 under UAPA for alleged links with treasonous Maoist groups. Polio had rendered him absolutely incapable of free movement right from childhood. The prison authorities deprived him even of his wheelchair, making life incredibly brutal for him in the Anda cell of Nagpur Central Prison. The egg-shaped cell (‘anda’ means egg in India’s putative national language) i

Octlantis

I was reading an essay on octopuses when friend John walked in. When he is bored of his usual activities – babysitting and gardening – he would come over. Politics was the favourite concern of our conversations. We discussed politics so earnestly that any observer might think that we were running the world through the politicians quite like the gods running it through their devotees. “Octopuses are quite queer creatures,” I said. The essay I was reading had got all my attention. Moreover, I was getting bored of politics which is irredeemable anyway. “They have too many brains and a lot of hearts.” “That’s queer indeed,” John agreed. “Each arm has a mind of its own. Two-thirds of an octopus’s neurons are found in their arms. The arms can taste, touch, feel and act on their own without any input from the brain.” “They are quite like our politicians,” John observed. Everything is linked to politics in John’s mind. I was impressed with his analogy, however. “Perhaps, you’re r