By Anoohya Kanaparthi
My mother was a secret poet,
hidden like the ink on weathered
pages of her old diary
that stayed forgotten for decades.
Whenever I think of her youthful days,
I think of knee-length skirts
and snapback hats,
of riding bikes on cracked, rain-slicked roads,
laughing with friends on
mundane evenings.
My mother was a secret poet—
a romantic at heart, craving a love
like the movies, not fierce but
a gentle ignition of fire within.
I think of stamps and post boxes,
all the letters she wrote to her
cherished hearts in the 90s
that somehow made it unscathed
into the rush of my 20s.
What a tragedy
she herself couldn't.
My mother was a secret poet.
Every soul chained to the cruelty of cancer
that she met made her forget her own battle
against it, to comfort them for a moment.
I remember the hospital visits,
the long days of waiting just to see her face again,
the uncertainty of winning a new start
free of torture and torment,
wishing to go back to a time of gentle
silence and calm between heartbeats.
My mother was a secret poet,
perhaps that is why her departure felt like
a poetic melancholy—an ache that would
forever stay rooted in my heart.
Now I think of her face, cradled
in the clutches of death, cries of a
disconsolate daughter echoing
in the confines of four white walls,
and the silence that remained
etched in my mind ever since.
My mother was a secret poet.
When I showed her my first poem,
all she did was smile and say, "Good job."
I wish I had known then what I know now.
I think of all the unsaid words,
the letters she never wrote,
the dreams she locked away
in the depths of her heart,
all the unanswered prayers,
all the dried-up tears on my face.
I think of how it would never go back to normal—
if it ever was.
My mother was a secret poet.
Her old diary is the only evidence
she left behind. Now I hold onto it
selfishly, wishing I could turn back time.
She is past now—a story ended abruptly.
The eighteen years I knew my mother
feel like a stroke of serendipity.
Twin ships in this voyage called life—
one sunk into an abyss, while the other must
now brave the storm in a lonesome fight.
My mother was a secret poet.
Now the poet comes back to life in her
daughter's poetry—words covered in love,
in grief and guilt, in pain and happiness.
Your poem is really heart touching Anoohya! Every line created an imagery in front of my eyes of what would have happened…..!! Indeed a beautiful piece of art….!
Hey! This is a beautiful written poem … i was able to feel all the emotion u have bottled up so far .. hope writting always be ur comfort zone for u to express ur thoughts freepy in the future tooo …. ur mom would have really been proud of …. ps: waiting eagerly to read ur other works too
Iam proud of you my frnd
Iam proud of you my frnd
Iam proud of you my frnd
Anu I appreciate the way you expressed your feelings and painted your voice into poetry. As I was reading this poem tears rolled down my cheeks. I knew your mom and admitted her alot. She was such an active person with lot of dreams about future. I wish you would fulfill all her dreams. I could understand how much you long for your mother. May God bless you to shine in all your endeavours. Hope to see you become the best poet ever. And not a secret poet
Your words touched my heart deeply.The love you have for your mother shines through every line. You have captured the grief so beautifully. It moved me to tears..This poem is a powerful tribute to your beloved mother .May you find strength in her memories and peace in your heart. May god bless you🙏
This is so beautifully written, im so proud of you love <3
Proud of you Anoohya…God bless you…. nice poem… Iread with tears
Hi ra
It is one the best one I have ever read
Which shows both love, sadness at a time
It is very good to see your work
All the best and keep going
Really tears rolling in my eyes ,you don’t know me but I knew about you a little . your peddamma and me are colleagues. That’s not the matter as an English teacher I see your way of expressing your feelings are touching and language is subtle.There is a hidden poet in you.keep it up .you have that jeans I knew it. Very few indian writers in english literature .I wish you had filled that gap .bless you
Your poem really met with moments.
Made me tragic.
Heart ❤️ Touching.
You are really proven expressive.
Reading this itself brought me into tears. You Are Born To Be A Poet!!
Keep going akka. I bet you will reach heights of success pretty soon. Rooting for your success.
With love,
Veronica.
Keep it up noo keep going…… ❤
Proud of you sis!!
Even as a beginner, I felt every word – your poem connected with me like it needed no wires. 🥰 Saving a spot in your fan club !😘
Just amazing 😍
You’ve poured your heart into these verses, and it truly shines through. Well done!
Good job Anu, keep on going
I heartily appreciate you from the bottom of my heart for your love and carrying your moms dreams
Keep it up my frnd!!!
“I am very proud of you! You deserve it”
One of the good poem that I have read.
Keep going on….🥰
“I’m so proud of you! You totally deserved it!”
I am proud of you my friend.
One of the best poem I’ve read ✨✨
Thankyou so much to Delhi Poetry Slam for featuring my poem in your blog! As a young poet, this is such a memorable moment in my journey. I look forward to the other events conducted by Delhi Poetry Slam!