(113) The thought of the school stings

The thought of the school stings, stings  113


When I was a nine year old girl,
upon my refusal to the school
my mother then sounded rude,
held me by the hand put on the first bench,
as if to cover the chicken by the basket,
ran fast home to sing lullaby to my
weeping sister in the cloth cradle,
a good pat on my cheek
by the English teacher for
the well sung nursery rhyme
is only short lived:
for the bell beckoned the terror,
the arrival of the Math teacher
with a cane multiplied my fear
only to make me forget my
Equations and mutiplications,
My eyes curious not on the board,
but on the clock for I feigned
to put the clock fast, for a stop
for the maths trauma,
the play time or P.T is
full of stress for the eagle eyed
monster would command a
kneel down for the ink
dot in my white uniform.
A surprise walk or check by the
Head master many a time
Made me tremble with a salute.
Today me a school teacher
Impatient and imbecile.
It stings, it stings----.
My conscience stings
Me badly to the root of
My heart, my bleeding veins.