School.

It’s class 12,

And school’s almost come to an end;

Finally, I don’t have to pretend,

About how I like it;

Act like I don’t actually despise it,

From the core of my heart.

I am so glad,

Finally, our ways part.

But then, as I retrospect,

And ponder,

Into the years that rolled by,

I wonder-

Of the root of all the memories,

I made;

And unexpectedly,

It turns out to be,

The place I used to hate –

All these years,

The reason for my morning nightmares.

And the jitters,

I used to get;

Waking up from my bed,

With a sleepy head,

And the splash of cold water,

Gosh! Don’t even mention that.

But, then:

It’s within those four walls,

That most of my memories,

Were etched,

Among dynamic foes,

And transient friends;

The lessons I learnt,

The old bridges that we burnt,

And the new ones we built.

All captured,

In vivid stills,

And reminiscing smiles;

In the minds,

And eyes,

Of every single soul,

Who was once a student.

Ask each one and you’ll know,

Of the value it holds in every heart;

They’ll tell you it’s much more,

Than just big books and lengthy notes;

Ask of the fun they had,

They would tell you tales of glory and galore;

(Some may be censored out tho)

And look into their soul,

Observe –the excitement that flows,

Within em,

The passion,

That oozes out from every pore;

That would be the true face,

My friend,

Of this boring place,

That we know as school.

 

• – Ishaan Phukan