A poem I wrote...after a prolonged hiatus...

MEMORIAL

Did I think you were the answer to all my sorrows ?

I do.

Did I think you were the messiah of my tomorrows ?

I do. I do. I do.

I cradle you to the cross of my soul

A baby never to be.

My dreams beckon you into my sight

A river never to swim to sea.

And yet, despite you, I spite you

Because you were never my chosen.

I dare not wish for wisps of you

I myself have burnt and broken.

Will you ?

There are tears, there are fears

Bitter, battered years

As I mourn my own dead.

And yet I walk, how yet I talk

Scanning a senseless yoke

Legacy of a vampire undead.

Do you ?

Your touch is almost on my arm

A weapon of pain I cannot disarm

Your voice a tune I clutch in my palm

Your ghost the secret of my psalm.

And yet, before you ask me,

I must one day unmask me

And tell you the truth :

I do.

In Absentia :-D

I asked this particular student why he hadn't brought a letter to excuse his absence yesterday.He wouldn't reply and looked curiously awkward when I demanded that he at least give some sort of a verbal explanation.

He kept on eyeing the floor, standing in the last row.

 Finally, I asked him to come up to my desk and tell me what the matter was.

After much prodding and poking, he finally submitted that his mother had forgotten to wake him up yesterday, in time for school.

Now, that was new. I stared, speechless, for a few seconds. Then, recovering my composure, I asked him whether he had heard of something called an 'alarm-clock' ? He stubbornly maintained that his mother woke him up everyday.

I stifled my laughter and asked him what the usual 'call-time' was.

6 am, he replied promptly.

"And at what time did you finally wake up yesterday ?"

"10 am", he replied reluctantly.

There was a collective gasp from all the students of my class.

I gave up the cause and had to concede that there was some originality in his story :-)))) 

Caliban-ism

It is quite a special day when one of your students, striving to make a favourable impression on two guests from a British school in Leeds, introduces Sycorax, the witch, (from an abridged prose version of Shakespeare's 'The Tempest') as the mother of the monster 'Cannibal'.

He said it with such confidence that I myself was confused for a moment. Not Caliban ?

And then, I found the rest of the class staring stony-faced at him.

He didn't seem unnerved, though.

I don't know if the visitors were impressed with the originality of his answer. They left almost immediately !