Through the years, children comes and goes.
Good or bad, I remember all of those.
Some leave their names, some leave scars
I keep them all to see them return one day.
Some comes back as failure and some as super stars.
Some comes back as failure and some as super stars.
And run their fingers on what they've left behind.
Some shed tears and I've seen some smile
I don't judge, just watch meanwhile.
They walk through the ground and the corridors,
Peep through the windows and open doors.
Sit on a bench and gaze at my black n white walls.
Their names itched on a desk like how I'm itched to their memories.
Here's where they made friends and foes.
Apart from poems and pros,
Here's where they learnt life lessons.
And found new dimensions of emotions.
It's a joy to know my worth,
As a classroom, as a second home.
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Drenged in the memories of my past, I stood there recording the 'now' and replaying the 'then'.
The building, the play ground, the school busses - they have all undergone changes - time has played its trick - and yet they seemed to be the same.
I walk through the corridors... Giggling children ran past me like in a vertual reality.
I peered into a classroom through a window and a new set of memory was unrevealed. As I walked through the door, I could see, feel and hear my classmates talk, laugh and act goofy.
Those benches - so familiar. I sat on one of them and pretended to be a part of the class. Soon enough I was dessolved into those memories.
It was my second home. A place I could easily belong. And as that thought grew, a sharp know at the door startlled me. The unfamiliar face in khaki asked : "who are you?" The watchman, in one moment shattered my cozy feeling and brought me back to reality. I knew then - I was no one and I didnt belong there anymore.
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