2023 2024 Metea Valley Literary Magazine
Produced by Mustang Wild
Editor's Note
As you read through the best works of writing and art that our school has to offer, we would like to take a moment to acknowledge all of the creativity and effort that the students of Metea Valley have shown over the course of this school year! We are honored to have been entrusted with your artistry and for the opportunity to share your works with the greater Metea community! A special thanks to Mrs. Aigner and Ms. Gervasio for their guidance and leadership this school year. We had a wonderful year of creative events and workshops, and we hope you will join us again next year! Regards from your 2023-2024 Editorial Board: Editors in Chief: Michelle Seby, Hafsah Khan Poetry Editor: Oriana Berdnikova Prose Editor: Jasmitha Kokanti Art Editor: Netra Nalubolu
Contest WinneRS
Poetry Bingo Competition Winner: The spring Haiku by Ishaanvi Vemula
Cherry blossoms bud, Whispers of spring's sweet perfume, Nature's soft cocoon Robins sing their song, Melodies in the dawn's light, Echoes of rebirth Green hills stretch afar, We can hear the crickets chirp, Spring's eternal star Bees hum in the breeze, Gathering nectar with ease, Spring's symphony plays Sunlight's gentle touch, Warming earth, awakening, Life's eternal rush
Fall Writing Marathon Winner: A Journey Beyond Reality By Ishaanvi Vemula
The mind is a vast place In its quiet corners A portal unfurls A gateway to utopian realms Where reality does not exist A canvas of imagination Painted in the stars Another planet, another universe Where dreams alight Mystical creatures, whispers of magic A kaleidoscope of dreams becoming true This moment shall last forever For this journey is an unforgettable one Time is forgotten, the seconds tick by A wanderer is lost In this parallel galaxy Nothing is as it seems Ethereal landscapes, unreal sounds Oh, so incredibly soothing We escape from reality To get lost in another world
If I had but merely one wish, I would wish to become a snowflake during the first snowfall. To witness the muddied ground slowly turn white, and gracefully slip through the grey skies. O, to be a snowflake during the first snowfall, is all I aspire to be. how lucky they are, to be so blissfully unaware of their impending demise, as soon as they collide with the earth. To be a young snowflake, and not know that once you hit the ground, you are merely one of a thousand. What once was so beautiful, and admired by all, became forgotten much too soon; as one snowflake turned into nothing, but a memory.
Fall Writing Marathon Honorable MentioN: The First Snowball By AnUSha Arun
Fall Writing Marathon Editor's Pick: Voiceless By Samantha Ebony Aguilar
At a certain age, some people seem to know the paths they need to take. Following their yellow brick road. In my case, at the age of 8, my yellow brick road had been laid out. The career labeled to my name at such a young age was being a professional listener. I listened to everyone’s voices but mine. It left me with no voice of my own. 2015 was the year I entered 4th grade, hitting that sparkling age of 8. I was excited to wear a stylish shirt and shorts from Justice on a particular school day. That day, me and my friends noticed a new girl during recess and befriended her. Towards the end of recess, she said in front of all my friends, “Sam, you have long arm hair…” Listening to her say this, left me with a red face. As if I should be ashamed of my long Hispanic given arm hair. I didn't defend myself, I just stayed quiet. This had been the first occasion where my profession became visible. The comment was so new to me. I figured I should just stay quiet and try to laugh it off instead of defending myself. After that comment, I mostly wore sweaters/long sleeves. As I progressed into my teenage years, so did my career. Entering middle school had me anxious. Anxious if another arm-hair like situation would occur. I had always known I was skinny, and didn’t ever think it was bad to be so. At least until some kids in school mentioned something about my appearance. Whether they said these comments to me directly, or behind my back. I always heard things like: “…she's so skinny….” “Your legs look skinny in those jeans…” Just like last time, my face grew tomato red, my heart sunk, and I would stand awkwardly quiet. Personally, I didn’t notice anything I hadn’t liked about my body, until they did. With each taunt these kids said, I grew deeper in insecurities and weaker in my defenses. With each taunt, I sank lower and lower into just listening to these people's opinions, and avoiding my own. By now, my career had taken off, I was certainly skilled. Even so, when I felt I should say something, I just took it in and listened. Took it all in because kids my age thought it was funny to make fun of others. I was already getting things said about me, why add more if I defended myself? But, there was my family too: “Que flaca.” Merely all my life, family members had named me the Flaca of our family. Flaca means skinny girl in Spanish. Hispanics like to convince themselves that the nicknames cute, and not offensive. Every family party, I was greeted with the same label. I couldn't say anything because then I would come off as disrespectful. So I just did my job, and listened. I couldn't use my voice, and say I was hurting. They just encouraged my insecurities, making me feel small. At this point, all I sought was confidence. The confidence of Gigi Hadid walking down the runway. I wanted to be bold, just like the popular girls in school. I saw that they didn’t care about others' opinions. Seeing these other girls do so good at not caring made me assume that it was likely their profession. In my bed, I would tell myself,"who cares about what other people think!” Cliche, I know. But, I didn't want a career in listening anymore. Shifting my career to not caring about what others think about my body/appearance, along with speaking up and using my voice when needed. I saw how I made the choice of not using my voice these past years. I now understood that being voiceless wasn't an option anymore. I now had a new profession.
FALL INKTOBer CONTEST WINNER BY NETRA NALUBOLU
Art Submissions
General Art Submission By Vidhi Dangwal
General Art Submission By Kaitlyn Anderson
Writing Submissions
In gardens where the roses sweetly bloom. And sunlight weaves a drapery of gold. A whispered breeze disperses nature’s gloom. As fragrant scents in gentle waves unfold. The petals dance upon the morning air. In rhythmic swing to nature’s soft refrain. Yet some hidden thorns within beauty glare. To pierce the hand deep that taunts to touch vain. But midst the blooms, a solitary thorn. Bears witness to the strain that love may bring. For though enhanced, the rose is still forlorn. Its fragile heart can break at just one string. Yet in the garden’s heart, true love shall reign. Where thorns and roses share a sweet refrain.
UNTitled By Giridhar Krishnan
Overlooked for months upon no end Covered by things no one longer wants to see Why aren’t you appreciated more? Struggle through the weight Literally piled upon your shoulders Why doesn’t anyone congratulate you? Peek out and see the sun Oh how it smiles brightly down on you Why does no one say hello Except for the giant ball of fire in the sky? Pull yourself up straight And stretch out gratefully Why are you still unseen? You wait And wait As your legs become longer, As your arms grow greener, As your body becomes taller, As your hair gradually changes color Until you are there for people to finally see. It takes a little, For them to all look down, But when they do, They finally admire you. You with your silky petals And vibrant tints A true flower among the field of long grass And unopen buds around you.
First Bloom By Grayson Parli
DO YOU CARE NOW?
Invincible- “too powerful to be defeated or overcome” Is that it? Is that why you’re so foolish? You think you’re invincible? Well you’re not. Actions have consequences, whether you realize it or not. Bottle after bottle, can after can Downing them as if you’re scared they’ll get away 0.08 is quickly surpassed without realization. As the sky goes black, more drinks are thrown back 6 hours of party pass and the time has come to leave Without a second thought, sitting carelessly behind the wheel Pulling out fast enough for your tires to make a squeal. Speeding through neighborhoods roads Blowing stop signs along the way You’re lucky it’s too late for children to be out at play. Ignoring speed limits as if they’re a recommendation I guess it’s probably because you can’t make out the numbers on the sign Is it a 5 or 8? I guess you’ll never know.
Keep on Craving by Sanya Kapoor
I crave more. I came continuously craving more Out of the womb I crave more. Like the fragrance of brownies, forces the jaw to drop, Teasing the tongue, I wait for the goals That I have been starving for I crave more. Like the stinging of a black eye After a firm punch to the face, Blurring the vision, I wait to perceive the screaming dreams That have been captured in my eyes I crave more. Like the echoes of silence In the elderly’s ears Arriving as age grasps their body, I wait to hear the unspoken pride That has been looming In my brain I crave more. Like the mustiness of failures Witnessed in the nose, Causing one sneeze And another, I wait to twirl With the perfume of perseverance Pushing the lessons Closer and closer To me I crave more. Like the dull and ragged clothing Keeping children of the slums, Striving in a swirling storm, I wait to shimmer In silk-satin stylish shirts Classily consumed I crave more. Like the muted cries That shiver next to me Every bleak night, Swimming in their sea of sorrows, I wait for my voice To escape the locked cage Of insecurities I crave more. Until the breath ceases sliding Into my lungs Until the striving stubbornness ceases In my heart Until my senselessly logical mind ceases Dragging my craziness Up a mountain Devoured with steepness Rules are unbreakable, Yet Rules are broken I constantly keep craving More and more
The crown sat gilded, glowing, glistening in the limelight The crown waited on a velvet cushion Abandoned Forgotten Waiting The ruby rhinestones glittered in the shadows Stained with memories long forgotten Its presence pressured you to remember To feel a weight upon your head since Forgotten Heavy be the head that wears the crown A simple phrase Connotation tickling my senses I taste the sourness of fear in my mouth I smell sweat in my nose I feel a shiver down my spine Could I ever live up to this? Reaching, the cool metal meets my fingers As I take it in my hand My heart aches The arches of it stab my fingers as I put it on my head Weight presses down on me as I lift my eyes Where had all the eyes come from? Where was I? What had changed? Heavy be the head that wears the crown Burdens of leadership Pressing Never forgetting what happens When you slip
Heavy be the head that wears the crown by Addison Whitlow
The secret of nature by Piyu Kundu
Nature, is something to not take granted As for where it is, the sound joy ringing The urgent smell of fresh soil demanded For no one knows where the smell committing For where it stays, it lightens up the place The sound of animals with the pine rove As nature opens its arm to embrace For the hint of a lovely lucky clove You can find it everywhere to just look Some people look there to find some comfort But from some people bad thought nature took It is the known truth, but for some dulcet Nature can never be seen to be right For the secret, just nature can suffice
I walk across the mountains, I wade across the mud, I wake up in the morning, I watch flies swarming I’ve seen the world, it's covered in whorls, blue and green, and lovingly lively, our planet, oh so mighty The oceans are salted like my skin, water drowning me in sin, wishing well, I wish you well Flowers clog my nose, petals fall as I write prose, cherry blossoms spilling like ink, I blink My eyes are open, and even though my fingers are swollen, I think about the Romans Forever lost to time, where have you gone? I will see you at the dawn Painted gold and rosy pink, just another dream I can not drink, I blink This world has loved me long, swore I would never do her wrong My tears are oceanic, twice as briny, they make my cheeks shiny Seagulls caw when they’re hungry, wish I could be them, honey, To fly over the seas, I wouldn't need any keys I left the door unlocked, she never even knocked I wish to break the chainlink, I blink Metal in the earth, what a rebirth I walk across mountains, across mud I wake in the morning I watch flies swarming The world wails Can I Breathe?
To Be Dirt by Jay Schroeder
In the green of summer, heat of July. cold of April. or cool of August, The game of Cricket is played, A sport of skill and strategy, Where 2 teams of 11 come to give a show The cricketers take the field, Their strategies and skills revealed, The ball, a test of strength and guile, The game of wits; a trial of will The fielders, a web of precision, Their movements, a choreographed fusion. The game, a battle of the mind, A test of endurance, a test of kind. The batter, master of class and art, His stroke play, like the symphony of the Heart The bowlers, a force to be reckoned with, A test of endurance, a test of kind The cricket field, a stage of dreams, Where heroes are made and themes, The game, a reflection of life, A test of strength and strife The game, a test of wills, A battle of wits and skills, A sport of honor and pride, A game that never dies
Never Dying by Abhimanyu Yadav
The Head on the Closet by Praganyan Manickam
Oh, as everyone sees me as dead Of course they will, I'm just from their imagination Oh, I still feel alive as my eyes look up What am I looking at, god, the people I may have killed Many people see me as an ugly guy who has nothing to do But I still feel beautiful, as I am, and the only guy who notices me wrote this poem I use to be a regular human but I was bit by one of my own Now I'm part of a priceless collection at the top of a shelf Oh, the paintings blocking my view of the blue sky But my body is in the sky and my head is down here As god caused children to sin me and made all of them stare at me with disgust But one guy didn’t care how bad I looked, he cared about the painting blocking my view He cared about the children staring with disgust He cared about the blue sky and the ceiling blocking it He sees me for my true self and is willing to give me a way to appreciate the view of the painting and the ceiling He cares
what would be of my love, if you never found it? what would be of my heart, if your words never embraced it? where would my soul wander, if my grief never touched it? what would be of my love, if my hope couldn’t clutch it? why did you sit there, just to clean up my wounds? how did we get here, with bruises acting like tattoos? why did you look at me, eyes brimming with truth? what can one really win, when they have so much to lose? reminiscing is a blessing, but remembering is a curse hope’s just a bandaid, for all of truth’s cuts if our story’s not set in stone, then can the unforgiven be reversed? the old phone you’d call me on, it sits collecting dust who do I love now, since you’ve been gone? what should I lose myself in, ever since you’ve moved on? who’s hand should I hold, as the seasons pass on? I can’t turn over the leaves, so I sit and watch them fall.
Turning over a New Leaf by Sonali Undale
Veiled Facades The theater of life Is a dangerous place Masquerade, concealed identity No one can be sure of anything Crafted from layers of pretense and grace The mask hides one from others The eyes are veiled They are camouflaged from the world Behind the mask, though, A story lies untold Emotions are hidden, waiting to be discovered Concealing the vulnerabilities that remain unknown Remember, dear friend, don’t let the real fade For within identity lies authenticity True colors simply cannot stay hidden Soul and character will always be revealed in the end Even if one wears the mask for life
Putting on a Mask by ishaanvi Vemula
In bed, my body heavy as a stone It feels as though I lie upon a rock My mind, chattering, will not be alone Jumbled thoughts overlap, meaningless talk. “Hey, do you remember when…” they begin I cringe, recalling moments I regret Incidents that are, much to my chagrin, Mortifying echoes I can’t forget. Restless, I toss, turning in my unrest, Unable to sleep, ever uneasy Time ticks away, yet I am still distressed I twitch and turn, always feeling queasy. But my eyes grow heavy and they shut tight I slip into a land where dreams take flight.
Drifting by Ashritha Sriramoju