There were no flaming nostrils,
guided breathing.
Wings clipped,unable to fly,
controlled breeding.
Red stripes,colour of its tribe.
A crest like an armour on his little chest.
Optically unimpressed,clinically depressed,
how do you slay,the dragon you once were?
But I try.For I hear them cry.
Making them add,using fingers,
on them,forced,by me,they write,names of friends...
Count on your friends,I say,
they repeat verbatim,my own social word play.
They were shocked to see a projector,
but David Lean,always helped,
As Lara's theme brings tears,
they question,burying fears.
Attenborough's Kingsley inspired
them to ask what really transpired.
Exploring mystery...
unlike its boring history.
National Geographics,in its full splendour,
every boy stuffs his geography book inside,
mountains and meridians,countries and races,
studying maps of people they ask me,where does he reside?
Poetry competitions where I compare,
a rhyme by the butcher's son on tiger,
to Blake,making him turn in his grave,
immortal symmetry?that was brave...
Thirty students holding my hand,
one by one,
discover electricity through a mild shock,
I watch their fun.
Candy floss and soft drinks,
baby kangaroos,
they could name its every feature,
by end of biology at the zoo.
As I walked in the next day,
I was called by the Board,
as complaints by irate parents,
had began to pour.
Mend my ways?
Surely you jest!
I was ready to announce a play,
as topic for the History test.
With my usual smile,
I accepted my own resignation,
monster makers...
I could see their cold indignation.
Before I left,one chance to see the boys,
just to tell them Life,
does not have a plot preordained,
play it as it comes,ask when in doubt,
more goes between Heaven and Earth,
than you or me will ever know about.
I leave for I must rush,
to catch the noon local,
onto the next fight
with the monsters we create,
to resurrect creativity,
to explore,to implore,to deviate.
End of lesson.
No comments:
Post a Comment