Classroom

By Sharon Ann Philip

Desks scraping amidst the clamour

Of youthful yet weary voices like

Sticky strawberry jam on stale bread

Not the Saccharine sweetness of yore

Fair greenlings in a brute world, they endure

The smell of chalk and sweat lingers

Fast fingers over blank pages – undefiled

Hopes. Dreams to be filled within

Tools of the young, of brave thinkers

Brave minds, they must learn to be

For themselves, alone, in a world barbaric

But first would they survive ?

In halls of ‘learning’ that oust mavericks.

By Sharon Ann Philip