How do classrooms feels when they are emptied of their true contents-
The presence of laughter,the whiny sighs of protest to a surprise test,the clamor of mundane chatter and the fish market tag.
Do they feel like textbooks torn to shreds,devoid of any true purpose of existence?
Do they even stand classrooms at all-those empty,noiseless wooden chairs holding no backs,do they feel dead?
Who do those faces drawn on the charts lining the walls monitor? Who do those vandalized tables speak back to,shout back lyrics at?
And those smiley faces,who do they peer at? And how lonely does the timetable and syllabus lists strung on the wall get with only the attention of a tree branch?
And what when-
Yes,when the classroom is shaken up,upside down,empties of its essence,the presence that it learned to define itself with.
The end of a term,the holidays gone were sad enough,what when they will be gone forever and it will be stripped of it's glory and the charts torn off-
Remaining but a fuzzy memory,injecting the feeling of warmth and familiarity,and the cold wave of change and fear,alike.
There will be new faces,it knows.New presences and in it,it will learn to seek solace,that is but it's destiny.
But every passing batch makes it old,impersonal,so,so senile.Scabby walled and monsoon-roofed.
And yet,she will throw her door open,get sidelined and trodden with scars of careless caressing.
A little emptier than the last time.
The presence of laughter,the whiny sighs of protest to a surprise test,the clamor of mundane chatter and the fish market tag.
Do they feel like textbooks torn to shreds,devoid of any true purpose of existence?
Do they even stand classrooms at all-those empty,noiseless wooden chairs holding no backs,do they feel dead?
Who do those faces drawn on the charts lining the walls monitor? Who do those vandalized tables speak back to,shout back lyrics at?
And those smiley faces,who do they peer at? And how lonely does the timetable and syllabus lists strung on the wall get with only the attention of a tree branch?
And what when-
Yes,when the classroom is shaken up,upside down,empties of its essence,the presence that it learned to define itself with.
The end of a term,the holidays gone were sad enough,what when they will be gone forever and it will be stripped of it's glory and the charts torn off-
Remaining but a fuzzy memory,injecting the feeling of warmth and familiarity,and the cold wave of change and fear,alike.
There will be new faces,it knows.New presences and in it,it will learn to seek solace,that is but it's destiny.
But every passing batch makes it old,impersonal,so,so senile.Scabby walled and monsoon-roofed.
And yet,she will throw her door open,get sidelined and trodden with scars of careless caressing.
A little emptier than the last time.
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