I'll Take These With Me

 

Annanya Gulia

Annanya Gulia is a grade 12 student of Army Public School, Noida. A former colleague of mine in Delhi, who is now Annanya’s English teacher, drew my attention to the remarkable poetic gift of the young girl. I would like to present one of the poems here.

Coming from a teenager who lives in the heartless National Capital Region of India, this poem deserves a deep look. The central theme is the value of lived experience over conventional success. The young poet emphasises that marks and certificates, often seen as measures of achievement, are not what endure. Instead, intangible qualities such as kindness, resilience, curiosity, patience, courage, and the lessons from scars, form the true wealth that she will carry forward. Superficial recognition is not what she hankers after but a celebration of inner growth.

What struck me particularly is the rich and vivid imagery employed in the poem. “No rolled-up mark sheets like battle flags” underscores the exaggerated importance that society places on school report cards. When the poet drinks “my resolve like black coffee,” there is bitterness. But there is also strength as she captures the energy that comes from persevering. What takes the cake is “Scars as maps.”

Emotionally, the poem inspires courage and hope. Intellectually it challenges readers to rethink what counts as success. For a student at the threshold of adulthood, this perspective is both relatable and aspirational.

Let me not go on… Here is the poem.

 

I’ll Take These with Me

I will not carry grades in my fist,

No rolled-up mark sheets like battle flags.

Instead, I’ll take the way silence taught me

To speak with kindness,

The way failure folded its cold arms

And made me warmer.

I’ll carry curiosity, raw and aching,

That made me ask why when others nodded,

That made me listen longer

Than the world had time for.

I’ll carry patience,

Not the kind that waits at traffic lights,

But the kind that waits for people

To become who they were meant to be.

I’ll carry the art of standing still

When storms ask me to run,

The grace of not knowing

Yet showing up like I do.

I’ll carry voices,

The ones that broke,

The ones that healed,

And the ones that were mine,

Trembling, yet still choosing to speak.

I’ll carry the taste of mornings

When I almost gave up

But drank my resolve like black coffee.

I’ll carry scars, not as proof of pain,

But as maps.

Maps of how I walked through fire

And didn’t forget my name.

 

Below is another poem of Annanya’s which appeared in the Hindustan Times recently.