Our Good Teachers

By Obed Adonle

"Spalted wood, a junk cull", called by the forester

They all gave it up, except the carpenter

Drenched in the ocean of sweats

Mightier rivulets of pain and fear

He cuts and shapes the wood with weird tools

And into his soft skin bite the jointer and SawStop

A silent wail of helpless pain we hear from his workshop

As streams of blood from his lacerated arm

Glide effortlessly and drizzle into his dirty trousers

Now, praises of wow the furniture receives in good

Leaving the carpenter, the hero as a buffoon

This morning he's busily cutting leathers to amend their shoes

For their upcoming classical night shoots

With the sprint of the Hammer in his hand

Squashes his innocent finger's head

But these classic shoes at meetings, ceremonies and offices

Respected and honoured than the cobbler himself

"Silence in the class, keep quiet, I say", Screams the teacher

But none cares about her agony

This afternoon she lost her voice

Why wouldn't they still stop their noise?

A single parent of thousand children

Puts in all efforts to brighten our future

Like the carpenter, she planes and polishes our minds

With all sacrifices to make us bright

As much as the porter would do with his might

She moulds our notorious behaviour to be refined

And night and day difference, she doesn't know

In knowledge at night, she has to grow

For the good ways she makes us know

See! Oh Earth, the good teacher

The cornerstone of our great future

My mentor, our helper, our comforter

Who sleeps not to mend our personality like the cobbler

But now they are treated as scullions

And not the earth's scions

Hold the good teacher like an egg

For bringing you so far to this edge

Where would be the doctor, the judge or the manager

Without the anonymous sacrifice of the good teacher?

Come to relieve them from their suffering

With them, share our little caring

For if we cannot see their tears

That does not mean they do not cry

By Obed Adonle