Anushka Mimani, Class XI G
At five, they called her troubled. Silence was her only virtue;
Imagination her sword tucked carefully beneath an armour of indifference.
At ten, an artist. They mocked. She could create faraway lands,
Conjure them all, from the polka-dotted butterfly to the great grey night sky.
At fifteen, she lacked commitment. And so her white ink-dotted battleground,
Lay unfinished, unspoken as sand flew by.
A decade later, she was honoured with knighthood ‘Lord of Literature’
For that very unfinished art deemed worthy.
But by then, the mighty had fallen.
And that day, as lightning struck, they said it was the moon and the stars
Celebrating a warrior’s homecoming.
She had done the world great service and had finally returned
To her rightful place.
