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Poetry: Time

Poet and activist Anya Thakur explores the magic and mystery of time, and how we shape it.

Photo courtesy of National Geographic.

A Scholastic Art and Writing awards 2017-18 Gold Key winner selected from all works of poetry throughout the Southwest region.

‘Time’ is a poem written by 14-year-old poet and women’s advocate Anya Thakur. She works to empower and uplift communities as founder of GirlUp Dallas, a UN Women organization, and a MetoWe partner with ArtRising, which provides arts enrichment to underprivileged communities and creates diverse programming for South and East Asian women. Hosting education, self-defense, and language and literature classes to empower rural women in Delhi, Mumbai, and Munipur, and humanitarian efforts with Myna Mahila, which empowers women in rural India through health education, her women’s advocacy promotes UN Women’s mission to ensure a fair and equitable future, and she has traveled throughout the United States and India to speak for girl’s education and empowerment.

Time

they call me a thief

i’ve stolen away their loved ones

turned roses to dust

easily carried away by the wind

burnt cities to rubble and bone

turned eyes sheeny with tears

and that elusive, fleeting hope

to hurt and skies streaked with thunderstorms

painted in liquid shades of darker and darker

stripped declarations of love

to false, empty platitudes

so tell me, who am i?

_ _ _

you want to turn and twist me inside out

meld me, possess me

wrap me around your ribs and

protect the heartbeat thrumming inside of you

cloak yourself with the ghost of sun and moon

i am not spider webbing strings of pearls

and tiered diamond chokers

to drape artfully around your neck

or sugary pills and ambrosial nectar to swallow

i’ll turn you to cartilage and fractures

strip the skin from your back

and live to see you dead

– – –

i take as much as i give

i’ll be that unseen force that propels

you forward and holds your enemies back

pulling them under and choking out

their lives, letting their blood trickle out

and turn to a river of water and whiskey

that graces your lips

i’m not one you want to waste

i can give you worlds inside worlds

then the tide of the oceans, and even

have you fighting the wind itself

standing firm and tall

in sunshine and hurricanes

you’ll never have to bow again

– – –

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