The Four Warriors of English -- Sai Varenya

 The Four Warriors of English

-- A poem about my dear MA English students Batch 2023-2025, MCCHE&T

The four brave hearts have now moved on,

Their chapter closed, their journey drawn.

Yet stepping into their vibrant space,

Always brought me peace and grace.

My comfort zone, my sacred ground,

Where joy in teaching I had found.

Varadath, Devika, Pranav, and she—

Vishnupriya, all dear to me.

No groupism, no harsh divide,

Just unity walking side by side.

They learned with hearts so open, wide—

With calm respect, and gentle pride.

Bilingual moments, laughter, light,

Their presence made the classroom bright.

Though farewells never came to be,

No tears were shed—but stayed in me.

They were more than just my class,

A fleeting time that came to pass.

They were the soul of MCCHE&T,

Where love for teaching bloomed in me.

I miss them now with every breath,

Their absence echoes more than death.

But hope is strong, and prayers sincere—

For happy days and futures clear.

May kindness guide their every deed,

May honesty be what they heed.

May peace and wisdom light their way,

And make them proud each dawning day.

Let not just trophies mark their name,

But how they played life’s truest game.

Good humans, humble, strong and wise,

With stars of values in their skies.

To them I send my blessings deep,

May love and courage ever keep.

And may their hearts forever be,

The pride of parents—and of me.

-- Sai Varenya

The Last Class? -- Sai Varenya

 The Last Class?

(A Lament by Sai Varenya) 

At MCCHE&T we stand, unsure—

PG English, once proud, now obscure.

Will we vanish with tomorrow’s light?

No new names, no future in sight.

Admissions rise—one-fifty strong,

Yet none for us. What went wrong?

The digit zero—India’s own,

A circle of fate we've come to own.

Seven scholars, chalk-stained and wise,

Cast nets beneath indifferent skies.

We hunt like fowlers in morning mist,

Promising dreams we barely exist.

To every child, we plead, persuade,

With crafted words and hopes displayed.

Yet English, once their gentle muse,

Now struggles—few choose, most refuse.

Fees, a wall too high to climb,

Love for words can't match the dime.

Some dream beyond the state's old gate,

To foreign lands, to courses "great."

Is it the age—of one child, maybe two?

Too many options, too much to do?

Or have we failed to make them see

The magic in a metaphor, the power of poetry?

Results we boast—bright, sincere,

Yet no one comes. We live in fear.

What shall we say to Sajith Sir?

That silence filled our register?

Jobs hang thin on hope’s faint thread,

No students—our classrooms dead.

Teachers without pupils fade,

Like sunset’s light, like dreams unmade.

We dial strangers, plead, implore,

Knock on hearts, still closed doors.

Conviction strong, but response weak—

Is English now an antique?

Yet still we teach, still we write,

Still we stand beneath this night.

For even if no voices call,

We are the keepers of the fall.

Let the world forget our name

We lit the spark, we played the game.

And if we fall with empty halls,

We fall as teachers—after all.

Dreams in Vain

Dreams in Vain 

Dreams in vain dissolve,

Vain distress consumes the souzl,

Heartache whispers low.

-- A short Haiku poem by Sai Varenya

13/06/2025

8.50 PM

No Tears Can Heal My Murivu

 No Tears Can Heal My Murivu

No tears can heal my murivu,

it's deeply cut.

And the murivu grows deeper

day by day.

Pain lingering

in my subconscious

has now leapt out

through my eyes —

as tears.

My tears tell a story,

a story of my pain,

a story of disillusioned dreams,

a story of who I longed to be.

Tears purify my mind,

if only for a while.

But still —

the mind remains unhealed.

-- Sai Varenya

13/06/2025

9.02 PM

I Wish I Were with You on A1171

 I Wish I Were with You on A1171

(A Lament for the Lost, and the Left Behind)

I wish I were with you in A1171,

On that final flight, beneath a setting sun.

The day my dear 241

Fell from the sky — and I came undone.

If fate had etched my name that day,

Perhaps a life might find its way

Back to the earth with breath and light,

If I had flown into that night.

But here I stand — a soul unhealed,

With wounds too deep to be concealed.

Each day I cry, each night I ache,

My dreams lie still — they will not wake.

My hopes are hushed, my spirit worn,

A desert heart, unloved, forlorn.

No hand to hold, no eyes that see

The aching truths that live in me.

No voice to lift me when I fall,

No warmth that answers when I call.

No mirror shows a smile that’s true —

I’ve forgotten how to simply be... or do.

Death is no friend — I know it well,

But sometimes it feels like a safer shell.

Not for joy — for peace, for rest,

To lay this sorrow from my chest.

Yet here I am, and still I write,

My grief a candle in the night.

The world may never truly see

The silent storms that rage in me.

But if these words can bear my pain,

Like petals soft beneath the rain,

Then let them float on winds above —

In memory, in loss, in love.

I wish I were with you in A1171,

But I remain… beneath the sun.

--Sai Varenya

13/06/2025

2.29 PM

Tears in Bloom

 Tears in Bloom

Tears bloom from my eyes —

when the dam breaks, they rush out,

watering silence. 

--Sai Varenya 

13/06/2025

2.39 PM

This is my first Haiku poem. 

TIAS

 Scheming Abusive Anarchy

Sowing discord with Insidious Lies

Tainting truths

You turned me into insane

With your toxic intentions

I didn't fight in your chaotic game, 

For I refuse to fight with  a fool. 

That's why I chose to walk away, 

With dignity at length.

--Sai Varenya

04/06/2025

8.44 PM