The sweet days of a kid,
with colourful books to read.
Days of mischief and prank,
with no measure no rank.
Me and my naughty gang,
always in mischief till bell rang.
Sirs, madams and all,
knew who was behind it all.
Gulping tiffin before the break,
during tiffin would play 'n' wreck.
All faults we would share,
kept mum as red eyes glare.
The kids grew into boys,
still in mind childhood toys.
Kiddish feeling still alive,
time let it prosper and thrive.
Patches on walls, broken panes,
the silent echo of long canes.
The teacher and the taught,
were bonded like a knot.
Prasenjit©1997-2011
No comments:
Post a Comment