My Soul To Take
Ellaheh Gohari
Ellaheh Gohari
Ellaheh Gohari reads her poet laureate titled, "My Soul To Take."
Rhyming Poem: The Virus of 2020
When it started it
Wasn’t so bad, wasn’t
So scary, really,
Wasn’t so sad.
Because after all,
Only the weak got sick,
Their brains already broken
By bad politics.
But then it mutated.
Through the television it spread,
Taking over people’s minds,
And leaving them brain-dead.
The casualties, well, they
Started to increase,
Growing and growing,
No more peace.
Where did it start?
When will it end?
Until a Fox drops
—dead.
A deadly virus lodged
In its brain.
Changing its perception,
Common sense is slain.
Nobody thought it could come from a Fox,
The virus of 2020,
Nobody thought it would come in flocks,
The virus of 2020.
And yet the virus lives on,
In words and pictures and phrases.
Now it is spreading through the mouth,
“Biden’s creating coronavirus cases.”
It doesn’t seem so bad, right?
But it’s become an epidemic,
The anti-mask agenda lives,
With thousands of Americans sick.
I guess we know how deadly
A few short words can be
Because with just one Fox
And just one phrase,
America falls into anarchy.
Two Voice Poem: Un-understandable
Baby Both Elder
Wide, innocent eyes stare up
at the world.
Old, labored eyes look up
one last time.
Life is wondrous.
A new beginning starts,
just open your eyes.
An eternal slumber awaits,
just shut your eyes.
Seen so much and yet so little.
The world is your oyster,
full of opportunity.
The world is an old friend,
it’s time to let it go.
Time never stops, only you do.
You’re small, but you’ll grow,
Who knows what you’ll do.
You’re wrinkled yet happy,
Weak yet fulfilled.
How long will it be before you’re forgotten?
Your parents love you,
They give you a smile.
Your grandkids hug you,
They pretend not to cry.
Why do you always seem to run out of time?
Brand new experiences with
the touch of a hand.
Saying goodbye with
the wave of a hand.
And so continues the cycle of life.
Free Verse: on wearing a mask…
with bright pink feathers and
brown leather, with white lace
and covered face, he can’t
tell my expression.
does he even know who i am
with my face covered—careless
—in haste? does he even care
that i’m there, staring, longing?
so perhaps i shouldn’t even be
waiting for him to notice me just sitting,
staring in my perfectly crafted
mask.
perhaps i shouldn’t have come,
i look dumb just sitting here…
i wasn’t invited. he didn’t want
me. but i knew that.
i remember who he chose,
not me. never me. her.
he picked her and forgot
ME.
i see her next to him,
she’s talking, flirting, just
STOP IT,
i scream out loud and my mask falls.
no. no. everything is wrong,
nobody was supposed to know,
i was DISGUISED! my plan was
perfect, i don’t understand.
my mask was supposed to
protect me, it didn’t-
i didn’t-
this wasn’t supposed to happen, okay?
everyone is looking,
everything is ruined.
he’s confused, i can tell
by the way he calls me my name.
he wants me to leave,
reminds me we’ve been over for years,
threatens a restraining order,
(don’t do that, please?)
i don’t care that he hates me
i don’t care.
at least he sees
me now.
this won’t be the last time,
i promise it won’t.
he will see me again and when he
does, he will come back to me.
Haiku: Impossibilities
I can almost see
him staring out the window
at his own headstone.
Cinquain: Sinners
Sinners
go to heaven,
and saints all go to hell.
Or maybe it’s the opposite,
Oh well.
Grade: 9
Bio: Ella Gohari is an aspiring writer and poetry enthusiast. She works as the features editor on the Patriot Post staff, where she also writes articles, and has been doing science research with Ms. Joykutty for 3 years. In her free time she likes watching the news and participating in political forums.
Interview:
What motivated you to write this piece?
Many of the poems in "My Soul to Take" were inspired by writing prompts given to me by Ms. Adams, my creative writing teacher. I've heard that people think writing prompts are somehow inauthentic or basic, but I disagree. There are so many ways you can take a prompt, and no two works derived from a prompt will be the same. I think writing prompts are a great way to get those creative juices flowing.
Do you write sporadically or regularly?
I like to write fairly regularly. Being on the newspaper staff, I write multiple articles a month, but creative writing is a whole other ballgame. It's hard to balance school and fun sometimes, but I always make it a point to sit down and write something creatively once a week.
What was the most difficult part of your writing process for this work?
When writing poetry, I find that I automatically gravitate to end rhymes. That means the words came naturally for my three rhyming poems, "March-tober," "A Midsummer's Night Dream in Four Stanzas," and "The Virus of 2020" (which was in my poet laureate collection). However, when it came to the other 4 poems in the "My Soul to Take" collection, it was difficult not to rhyme. Poet Laureate also requires 5 different styles of poetry, so I had to branch out and write poems I normally wouldn't have.
Photo Citations: Jon Tyson, Pile of Assorted-Tile Case Lot, courtesy of Unsplash, https://unsplash.com/photos/UJN_XAg0ECI