Poem Hunter
School Times
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School Times

I have long left the classroom
Upon the cold floor of which
I have rubbed my buttocks;
It was my turn to clean.
I had been horrified as
The bleary- eyed teacher pulled
My hair to make me recognize
The faces crawling on the flat darkness
Of the board swinging on the wall;
I wished it should rain;
The dilapidated roof should leak;
And the pot bellied peon should
Bang the polished face of the bell
And I should run to my grandpa
And sit on his lap to watch him rub
Tobacco on his palm
With stone hard forefinger;
And of course to my beautiful mother
Flitting from room to room
Hidden under the printed plaits
Of her hand-woven saree;
A thought troubling her unripe brain;
What her son would be doing
In school in the treacherous rain.

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Comments (2)

It brings back my school days in some ways. Even blank verse, appealing to nearly all the senses. I would question the wording of line 3.
Most children hate going to school at a time wheen they should be playing. The iron discipline of the class room and the strict master annoy him! He longs to hear the bell announcing the dispersal of the class that he can reach back home at the earliest to be fondled by his grandpa and his mother! This poem reminds me of William Blake's The School Boy!