Celebrating Poetry with the Faculty of Education

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Celebrating Poetry with the Faculty of Education

March 21, 2024

In honour of World Poetry Day, observed on March 21, Faculty of Education students and faculty share their poems. View their submissions and access poetry books and classroom resources, selectively curated for the Faculty by from )!

Alexandra Dufour
Anisa Maya Dhanji
Ariana Ilham Mojadidi
Arlene Agpoon
Dr. Joel Heng Hartse
Poonam Sharma
Saba Madarwala
Saanya Toor
Shaghayegh Bahrami
Victoria Minty
Wiktoria Kaprinska

Check out poetry submissions from last year!

Faculty of Education's Virtual Poetry Space

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In Case You Forgot

By Alexandra Dufour, student

In case you forgot,
This land's ancient, not new.
It's been stolen, resold
Yet that鈥檚 hush and taboo.

In case you forgot,
I bear a name too.
They call me Quibble,
Where drug traces accrue.

In case you forgot,
Children play here.
Animals are hiding,
Trees vanish and disappear.

In case you forgot,
I'm part of Mother Earth.
One, not apart, yet treated
As if I'm mere dirt.

Merely a trail etched on the ground,
But I have feelings, too,
Though I make no sound.

There's a war going on

By Ariana Ilham Mojadidi, student

First, the weather changed
then the tone of your voice
the subtle shift
like an October breeze to a December storm
we dance along a long empty corridor
swaying to an eerie hymn (him)
you whisper honey-dipped words
the words turn into a blur

There's a war going on
loud violent explosions only I can hear
cries that splash and sway deep in the waters of my belly,
a crippling chaos that dances like smoke in my vacant mind
I can hear its roaring thunder
sweaty palms that tremble
every time you call, I hold my breath with flimsy hands
count to three before I dare to answer
but I know what you will say
the same painful arrangement of letters I rearrange
into something I would rather hear

on my phone, I have a list of questions
I set aside for when I get brave enough to ask
but it gets tucked away for another day
and squeeze you into my dry and aching throat
inject you into my veins
and smoke your words laced with poison
and all you do is watch as I choke in utter happiness

Essential Kindness

By Arlene Agpoon, student

People may believe in God or Allah or something bigger than themselves.
May argue on the validity of town faith and cast doubt among elves.
Some would claim to be so righteous that they forget to turn left.
Others are like bystanders, unable to figure out the heft.

Men and women might have argued about everything.
Roles, physical and mental strength, and even parenting.
Spectators misunderstand sequential gender issues.
However, the contention continues to be about better or worse.

They are seeking quick solutions on how to live comfortably.
Satisfying mouths to feed with wants and needs superficially.
Drowning with tablets, phones, iPads, and Wi-Fi electronically.
Obliterating manners to raise children with effrontery.

As life gets rough and tough, it is easy to blame the divine tread.
Impatient for His intervention, asking the web instead.
But not all questions can be answered by Google now.
Since it cannot answer the question, "What don't you know?"

It is being in the land to reciprocate with a sense of respect.
Unable to hold responsibility despite historical fact.
It is but fitting to be dumb and wise at each climb.
It was a clever disguise but muffled howling time after time.

Self-serving cause, unbearable pain, worthless violence, gnawing greed.
Hatred amongst men shaded by power play and misguided creed.
Is it too hard to seek humanity in everyone's ritual?
Is it too difficult for essential kindness to be habitual?

On the difficulty of committing oneself to symbolic meaning-making as a vocation

By Dr. Joel Heng Hartse, faculty

Rite: write.
Write right!
Right? Right?
Right.

"How Life Dances with Time"

By Poonam Sharma, student

Life is a journey for miles and miles,
Dances its way through seamless styles,
Like a river that flows never twice the same, Life reflects its moments through joys and pains.

With every sunrise comes a ray of hope,
In every sunset, an experience unfolds, Days turn to nights, and seasons change, Life sings its saga through all these frames.

Leaves fall, flowers bloom with time's embrace, Life echoes this rhythm for nature's grace,
This dance continues from old to new,
As change whispers through the morning hues.

Moments float like waves on the sand, Carry memories softly in their hands, Life carves its story with each heartbeat, Creating a new melody for every reach.

Laughter and tears blend the colours of life, The beauty lies in the joy of this ride,
Vast and wide, the journey is full of goodbyes But in every end the new beginnings are nearby.

Life like a mosaic of moments so bright, Illuminates our paths with every changing light!

The Echoes of Academic Pressure

By Saanya Toor, student

In the quiet halls of education,
where hopes and knowledge connect.
A story unlocks an unspoken desire
behind the crushing beat of neglect.

As textbooks and deadlines mingle together,
Where souls are examined, minds are shaped.
Cheers to rapid jingles, young hearts beat
In the cauldron of grades, where dreams escape

Ah, the strain of school, the quiet storm,
That forms an earthquake in student's thoughts.
A burden weighing down on my shoulders,
A symphony of stress, in the classroom, it is taught.

Like passing weather, the chapters change,
But there is no escape.
Each exam is a hill to conquer.
In the quiet corridors of knowledge, minds strained.

In classrooms bathed in a grey haze,
Where nights are restless, and caffeine sways.
Students labour, minds ablaze,
In the silent struggle of the academic maze.

Among the quiet conflict,
Where textbooks close, and pens are to rest,
Hope whispers softly, "You have given your best."
In the hush of night, dreams deserve to find their nest.

The blurry notes, the worn-out sighs,
Speak volumes of sleepless nights.
In the countless notes, memories lie,
A silent struggle in dim study lights.

Oh, mentors, keepers of the dark,
Support not just the educational spark,
Develop compassion, open hearts,
Guide students through knowledge and its art.

When grades turn to dust, in the final hour,
And exams鈥� are to rust, losing their power.
It is the strength built from academic strain,
That describes every student鈥檚 enduring gain.

Search for Tomorrow

By Victoria Minty, student

What am I looking for?
Is it simple and sure, or complex beyond my understanding?
Can I touch it?
See it?

Is it tangible beyond the fleeting notions
Of comfort and warmth?
Of overwhelming bliss?
Of soft contentment?

See, I push and pull my desires
towards one side of the scale and back
Yet Icannot tell which side they belong to
or if the scale has two sides
or simply one

Must I measure? Must I compare?
I only know I yearn for something I don't have
Something more tangible than my thoughts
Something with more depth than the page
Something sweeter than success
to slowly melt on the tongue
to grace my ears
to wrap around slowly and caress
My mind
Body
Soul.

I sit
hoping to find yesterday's dream within tomorrow.

remind me who i am again, anisa 嗒呧喃€嗒膏 丕贁賳蹖爻丞 (prose)

By Anisa Maya Dhanji, student

嗒呧喃€嗒膏, remind me of who i am again. y a-t-il de l鈥檈space pour me fleurir ici ou, am i too in and out of touch? je re虃ve trop loin, je sais. but i鈥檓 back again. les i虃les violettes sous mes yeux vous rappelleront que les couleurs de leur peau, la toxicomanie, l'amour abusif, le printemps et un nom arabe 丕贁賳蹖爻丞 all met to make me, la fille ai虃ne虂e. 鈥渢his is resilience鈥�, elle me dit. mais le moment n鈥檈虂tait ni rose ni chaud. 鈥渢his is surviving鈥�, elle me dit alors que que je me tiens au bord de mon lit pendant qu'il met le feu a虁 ses ve虃tements. so, i learned to grow beyond tolerance and this is what i give to myself.

j'avais 5 ans et je regardais les tours jumelles tomber sur la vieille te虂le虂vision de la cuisine et c'est ici que j'ai laisse虂 le musulman en mon nom a虁 table en mangeant un bol de ce虂re虂ales. forgive me for leaving her there all those years. ils avaient peur de moi. j'avais peur de moi. ne vous inquie虂tez pas, i wish i could tell the kids at school. ne t'inquie虁te pas, ma me虁re est blanche et l'homme qui m'a donne虂 mon nom musulman n'est plus la虁.

le chagrin c鈥檈st kneeling on the blood red carpets of jamatkhaha and not understanding prayer because my mixed mouth is a demeure with that houses l鈥檃bsence. mais je sais que c'est sacre虂 car on a enleve虂 nos chaussures a虁 l'entre虂e et on ne s'assoit pas les jambes croise虂es. le chagrin is being homesick for the kin standing autour de moi, car i speak the oppressor鈥檚 tongues. and they are the oppressed.

Anisa Maya Dhanji is a racially-mixed and neurodivergent settler-Canadian residing on stolen Qayqayt lands. She is currently working on her Masters of Education in French at 丁香园AV. She is particularly interested in learning how to create and participate in plurilingual classrooms and communities through anti-oppressive practices. She uses diverse mediums to create art about the landscapes of identity and memory, and the heartwork of love and relationships. You can find Anisa drifting in and out of the present tense, but when she isn鈥檛 teaching, floristing or daydreaming, she enjoys the company of these coasts鈥檚 airs, trees and waters that rightfully belong to, and are cared for by the Coast Salish Peoples.