The Perfect Day For An Uprising
As I sit in the creative writing class
And wonder by my troth
What I am doing
I am asked to write about a topic that I have no schema to.
My eyes are tired
My body is worn
This English department can make one wan
I would like to protest against their policy
Today I think is a perfect day for an uprising?
While my fellow peers
“If that’s what I can call them” sit scribbling on the desk
I wonder are they experiencing the same hell as I feel now.
The weather is beautiful
Drops of tears fall “plop” to the ground
Strangely I hear birds chirping
The lyrical sound brings joy to my heart
Maybe the uprising can wait for another day
As the light shines on me
I hope my pen will not dry out
The lecturer scribbles seriously wondering
“ What the hell these students are thinking about”?