Ode To The Blackboard

By Ashwath Ramesh

With creepy scratches, n creaky screeches,

With motes of white glancing off grisled green...

As words go round to the very reaches,

Does light realize, fastest he had never been...

As sullen shapes flow over the bored board,

In shape nothing more than squaller’s scribble...

As numbers melt, of x'es and y'es a hoard,

Do minds as ours reduce to mere quibble...

And there, over all, the voice... nay, the noise,

Drones on as crickets in the gloom of night...

And here we crouch, glassed, ere a choice,

As gons leave the green, in ‘n yet out of sight...

Ah! We feel, 'poor thee you green monster,

Bearing the brunt of that brawny brain

That that hardened heart and sultry soul shelter...

But erased u get, for every round that does rain,

And lucky be you, inanimate that you be,

while as bored blithe bodies suffer we...

From ring to ring, from start to end,

From morn to eve, any hour free to lend...

To water that weed, in daze taken seed,

To rush those words, to go nay forwards...

As for a tick we sit, prodigy n fool,

As in worry and wit, I sit and drool...

By Ashwath Ramesh