She...

Complaints about burden of work

And worker boredom were at their heights,

When I struggled in vain

To put my sense into the intractable class..

With lips departing now and then

Hidden unsuccessfully by palms

The burnt midnight oil started

Showing its signs upon me

With impatient legs, ready to start out

Innocent eyelids falling now and then

Angry fingers ceasing to move with the pen

Wavering mind waving a bye to the class,

I turned around to the window

And it turned out to be my turning point

I complained no more thereafter

No more of my illogical frustration..

Through the window, I could figure out

A tiny figure of a girl

With disfigured dreams, standing there,

Watching the class attentively..

The longing in her eyes, the ache

In her heart, the broom in her hand,

Meant to sweep the floor,

Swept away my misconception of life..

Her back, willing to hold books,

Carried a basket flooded with ‘neglected dusts’

Through which she dragged her life

Inch by inch, day by day..

Her palm kept on the window pane,

Showed her lifelines ‘crisscrossed by dirts’

She was just one foot away from the class

But miles away from education..

Her uncombed hair, unwashed clothes

Unessayed future, washed away dreams

Kindled the indignation of

My Realization towards my frustration..

The girl turned my attention

Towards her for a moment

But towards the class

For the rest of my schooling..

Everyday when I enter the gate

I see her sweeping the campus

Filled with signs of our pranks

And moisture of her sweat and tears..

Two years later, I walk down

The same lane, an ensconced student

My eyes immediately scanned the grey building

No longer a repulsive place..

There she sweeps, ignorant

Of what she means to me..

There she weeps

Cos she is ignorant..

She abated my ignorance

Through hers

And educated me

Through mine…