Child in its own world of happiness.

Child in its own world of happiness

  It is   the kid’s  happiness.

Four  decades  ago, the  hanging black board

Or the slate with wooden frames on all four sides,

Black   stone  or  slender foldable foiled  sheets

are  the  luxury of  school kids. The tiny slate   pencil           

Or the chalk, aided, aiding  companion used

With   meticulous dexterous   fingers, tender they are.            

Small letters, big drawings written  and turned

Upside down, with the same formula, slate

Coming closer  to the eyes and cheeks.                    

 The learner  wipes the sweat carelessly

mechanically with the bottom of the jacket.            

I recall an innocent kid wiping the numbers

On the slate, with the SALIVA  of the mouth,

The  hand again with the silky encounter of  jacket.

Those days a source of happiness

For the observer and learner.