Tuesday, February 2, 2010


In one of those boring classes,
Where the words of wisdom seemed
To fly high over my head,
And numerous invisible bees
Busily buzzed in my ears,
Stifling a yawn for the millionth time,
I looked out of the steel barred windowsill,
Grateful to obscure gods,
for its close proximity to my seat.

Something then caught my fleeting glance,
As my careless eye drifted from sight to sight,
Hidden underneath my comforting opening,
To what I thought was a more worthwhile doing,
Was something scrawled, rather scraped with much interest,
Small yet conspicuous in its modest dwelling,
Much more to eyes like mine, looking for better things.

On a closer look I could see,
it was a name of an unknown someone,
Who had dwelled in the past and shared my seat,
I could then see him sitting there,
Looking out of the window,
then indulging in that strange activity.
Out he took the rusted compass, I saw,
and set out to carve his lone name,
To whisper his sad story,
to generations that were to go through the same.

In that moment of epiphany I could relate,
To whole humanity who had to share my fate,
To all those lost souls who scratched their heads,
Wondering why the professor couldn’t be absent,
Somewhere within the spring of empathy burst forth,
And a deep love rushed forward to my stranger friend,
Now I saw myself opening my box,
Out came the rusted compass again,
And set in the noble task, to declare the name of another martyr,
For millions of generations yet to come,
And feel inspired by his silent story…

No comments:

Post a Comment