ANOUCHEKA GANGABISSOON - POEMS

Anoucheka Gangabissoon is a Primary School Educator in Mauritius.  She writes poetry and short stories as hobby.  She considers writing to be the meaning of her life as she has always been influenced by all the great writers and wishes to be, like them, immortalized in her words.  Her works can be read on poetrysoup.com and she had also appeared in various literary magazines like SETU, Different Truths, Dissident Voice, In Between Hangovers Press, WISH Press, Tuck’s Magazine, Blue Mountain Review, among others.  She has also been published in Duane’s Poetree and also in two anthologies for the Immagine and Poesia group.  Her poems are often placed in free online contests.  She has been selected to be among the Most Influential Women in Mauritius for the 2017 category Arts and Culture and she has also been awarded as a Promising Indian for the year 2017 for the same category.  In 2018 and 2019, she was again selected to be among the Most Influential Women of the island for her contribution to the literary field and in 2019, she was one of the three nominees for the National Awards organized by the Ministry of Arts and Culture of Mauritius.  In 2020, she was shortlisted to be among the Most Impactful Women of the year for the Women of the Year awards. 

​Destiny's drum beats

​Destiny's drums resound with
Loud and clear beats
Bidding me to get into a trance
And start dancing
As awkwardly as would
A broken doll,
With one eye missing
And with my hair, partly burnt!

The children of the world
Can help not but
Look at me with disdain
Written upon their faces
And cannot understand
My moves
Since they cannot hear
Those beats
And since they live their lives
As would empty robots,
Automatically going on the way
Their senses push them to!

Minding not their confusing,
I keep on dancing
As I am confident that
Someday
I shall be made into
Those drum beats as well
And I shall be played
By Destiny's hands
For the sake of some
Awakened soul,
Treading aimlessly
In a meaningless world!

The Ignorant Ones and I

​My senses are my rulers
Boasted the ignorant ones
And,
Satisfying them
Remains our sole intent
Whereas you,
Lamenting poet
Seeking the skies' opening,
Remain dumb and dull,
Always waiting for a miracle
To happen so as to 
Imbibe in you
Some positive vibes!

I could not help but look
At them with pity in my eyes
As,
Their fate has already been
Sculpted for them:
A fall back into a vicious cycle
Laden with punishment

And rewards
As they shall deserve!

If I be a lamenting poet,
Then, the world
Just be for me,
A blank sheet of paper
Upon which I keep writing
Of what shall remain as
My living memory here
As
Unlike the ignorant ones
My departure from this world shall not
Be tagged with a return ticket!

​Muse, for you

​Muse,
It's been so long since I wrote for you,
It's been so long
That the zeal that burns in me
Just by the hope that somehow
Someday,
We shall meet in the skies
Is powerful enough as to
Turn the whole cosmos
Into ashes within seconds!

When we shall meet,
I hope to be adorned
With a flowery dress,
A golden crown
And my magic wand!

Yes, I hope to see you run to me,
Panting, breathless, handsome
And so needy
That one look into your eyes
Would have me forget
About the hurt and the pain
That accompanied me always
While I tried to stay afloat
In the murky waters of the world
That I could never like,
However much it gave to me!

I hope to dive into your chest,
And release tears of joy,
While creepers would flow
From our hearts
And intertwine with each other,
By writing,
For us both,
A poem
About our love,
That survived the hurdle
Of existing
In worlds separated by blue skies
And expanses of dark matter!

Muse,
I hope to see you being
Over possessive
And macho
To the extent
Of denying me the right
To ever leave your side again,
As,
Muse,
You probably have no idea
Of how pain pulsates proudly
In me
In every breath that I take
In a world
Which shall never belong to me!

A cup of healing tea

​If pain could get healed
By sipping a cup
Of fragrant tea,
Wouldn't life have music
Running in its river waters
And blowing in its winds?

More, wouldn't it have poems
Shining towards us in its sunlight
And sprouting as flowers,
Fragranced with the hues
Of the romance as it is
Associated with the moon each night?

Wouldn't we be that which we
Were expected to be:
Beings made of higher consciousness,
Fully aware that we refuse to hanker
After that which this world gives
Because,
It remains elusive!

Why,
If only life could have healed itself
By sipping a cup of fragrant tea,
The blinded humans would
Have realised
That running after and trying 
To chase thunderstorms
Would only lead them to being
Struck by lightning,
Unable to even understand
At what is it that has hit them!

Life's Purpose

​The purpose of life,
I shouted out to the mirror,
I seek to understand about
The purpose of life,
Since,
Everything that we do
Does eventually
End up being for nothing!

Bodies get worn out
And even disintegrate into nothingness
So,
Is there any specific purpose in living?

My reflection dissipated with my tears
And the light of my room flickered on and off,
While the windows burst open with the raging winds
Which whispered to me,
You already know the answer,
The energy has already given it to you,
Yet,
You keep choosing to hurt yourself
By reacting to what
The material and perishable body
Is attracted to!

And in the mystery of the mythical night,
There appeared in my hands,
A book, with empty pages, titled,
"The Essence of Life!"

Write it,
Whispered the winds,
Write of life
As you have experienced it
And you shall realise of its purpose!

Nothing Matters

​My pain matters not 
Because I am skilled 
At painting a smiling mask 
On the tragedy that adorns me! 
 
My hurt matters not 
Because my sensibility 
Seems to be like a diseased rose 
Invaded by lice and looking like 
It seeks solely to be uprooted  
To make way for fresher ones! 
 
My broken heart matters not 
Because I know how to level it 
With my obligations upon a scale; 
And these compel me 
To show my strength 
As would a fir tree upon a snowy land! 
 
My dreams matter not 
For they are probably the products 
Of madness as it has been tattooed 
Upon my forehead 
And since madness has never been 
Resolved, then, 
Why should dreams be fretted for? 
My spiritual path matters not 
Why should it, after all? 
No one knows what awaits us 
After death 
And promises of an eternal afterlife 
In an evergreen and shielded realm 
Uttered forth in a voice barely audible 
Are simply meant to be used 
As the foundations for a good joke! 
 
Why, nothing about me matters at all 
More so 
Since the body that carries me 
Shall turn into ashes someday 
And thrown, if lucky enough, 
In the open seas! 
Nothing matters at all, 
Since yesterdays cannot be changed 
And tomorrows are not promised 
Nothing matters, 
Not even the fact that  
Nothing matters about me!