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Aakriti Chhetri Poem
Hush! one whit elevation makes many,
Tislite born in Imilchil.
Who knows may write her own fate till her last day?
But only in a secret way.
Which can never be heard nor be told,
But Ait Hiddou and Ait Yaaza can only say.
It's been years since that day,
And now its time to play.
Waiting in the dark with grace of God,
She embraced herself with lights of hope,
Only fir the man whom her father chose.
The nature also knows that its time,
As she throws her rolls,
Only to know that it falls.
But it never happens as its a bliss,
Thats why we say,
That destiny is everybody's wish.
But Tislite was unique like her fate,
Only to make her fall once again.
When finally two stars crossed,
Making Isli and Tislite fall in love.
But their fate was sour,
As they were enemies flower.
Which made them alone and in despair.
Only for them to cry until their repair.
But once their tears formed lakes,
It was decided that Souk Amor Agdoud
N'Oulmghenni will be held once a year.
As a memory to those two legends,
Who died only to be together.
Since then November is the month,
Which happens to be the time,
For each and every Tislite and Isli,
To fall in love and be together forever,
So that the history would never repeat.
And the sound of revelry could be heard,
To those two legends,
Who changed the notion of Imilchil.
Hark! as its not over,
The story still has to be pulled over.
But what can I say,
As I'm an outsider.
Who knows only a way to be together?
Its been years since that fear.
The story that this place holds,
Is always told.
To those who do not bear,
The past and future of their tear.
Time changed air's desire,
But could not change lake's fire.
On their day,
Which is decorated with,
The smiles of Tislite and styles of Isli,
Jewelleries of hope and dresses of their own,
With eyes all around,
Walking within the crowd,
Only to find that one Isli,
To whom Tislite can say "Tq massa n uchemt".
Copyright © Aakriti Chhetri | Year Posted 2017
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Aakriti Chhetri Poem
Amid the noisy fair of earthly cheer,
Where traders shouted loud like thunder thrown,
Where silks and spices shimmered far and near,
And every breeze told tales the summer’d known—
There moved a maid, more radiant than the day,
Whose quiet grace made even chaos still;
The finest goods seemed dull along her way,
For none could match the charm she bore at will.
The goldsmith’s chains, though shaped with master’s care,
Could never shine as softly as her face;
The merchant’s jewels, rare beyond compare,
Turned pale beside her unassuming grace.
Her eyes—two lanterns sparked by heaven’s fire—
Held such warm wonder time forgot to flow;
And in my chest stirred something like desire,
A tender ache I’d thought I'd ceased to know.
But then the crowd—a restless, shifting sea—
Closed in around her and she slipped from sight;
And though she left no trace for eyes to see,
Her presence lingered, gentle as the night.
For in that passing glance, so brief, so rare,
She lit a spark no shadows can dispel;
And ever since, my heart, though wandering where,
Still guards her glow—the spark she left to dwell.
Copyright © Aakriti Chhetri | Year Posted 2025
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Aakriti Chhetri Poem
On one side of town, the morning wakes bright,
Walls warmed by sunlight, a kingdom of light.
Books stand like promises, steady in a row,
Where futures rise easily, certain to grow.
A young girl sits dreaming, stars held in her pen;
Her teachers speak softly, “You can be anything then.”
Her desk is unshaken, her lunchbox is full,
The world spreads before her—wide, warm, and beautiful.
— But over the town where the shadows fall long,
Another child hums a far different song.
The lights flicker faintly, the cold evening creeps,
His textbooks are older than secrets he keeps.
He writes on a desk worn thin with its age,
His stomach a drum beating hunger and rage.
The chalk snaps in two before lessons begin,
Yet he shows up each morning, determined to win.
Back to the girl in her clear, glass-lined space,
Where knowledge runs freely, a stream she can trace.
She paints all her hopes in bright colors and gold,
A future laid out for her, certain and bold.
And back to the boy, carrying worlds on his back—
He studies by streetlamp when power turns black.
His dreams are as noble, as brilliant, as grand,
But heavy with burdens he never once planned.
For talent is equal, but chances are not;
Two doors, two beginnings—one cherished, one forgot.
Yet both hearts beat fiercely, still reaching for more,
Both stretching toward tomorrow from uneven floor.
If peace is a promise, let justice draw near:
Give each child a path that’s unknotted by fear.
The world finds its freedom the moment we say—
No dream is too distant, no child turned away.
And though their roads differ like night and full day,
A spark burns in both, refusing decay.
May we open the doors injustice once closed,
Till futures bloom freely where hope is supposed.
Copyright © Aakriti Chhetri | Year Posted 2025
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