I see thoughts scattered on my desk,
By the window on the crest.
I see memories pasted on the wall,
Along with memos and notices from them all.
I see colors making their way,
To the papers crumbling away.
I see the black ink blotted today,
From last years accident, but the scars remain.
I see my desk will its way,
To beckon me to come,
and write my way.

A tiny man walks in the class,
And says, "Hello".
A crowd of staring college kids,
Say "Think its time to go".
"there is no class today,
loads of time to sleep".

Then in comes, Mr. Shrivastava and says
"Guys why do you leave?"
"This is your new faculty,
he will be taking your class.
Be on time from tomorrow,
or from your grades you part".

A look of shock crosses the face,
No one speaks a word.
Trying to let the fact sink in,
And someone in the back says:
"He is weird".

He comes and introduces himself,
Asks our names too.
Out of the thirty six,
how many he remembers,
is a question though.

And on with the class he goes,
Showing pictures on the screen.
Showing logos and *** hole ads,
Untill a hairy scene.
A boy interrupts and asks:
"Whats the meaning of this?"
Wham! goes the teachers heart,
He was not expecting this!
So, he thinks about it for a moment,
no wanting to appear a fool.

Sure he must have taken then pictures from somewhere,
And was acting ****** cool.
He gave us topics,
And shooed us away, saying...
"Lets meet on tuesday!"

The sun falls on the earth.
The flower opens.
Each time.
It faces the storm instead of the warmth.
It faces the fire instead of the breeze.

And each time it wears the scars and tries to bloom.
Each time it opens
Its forced to close up before its time.
Not this time the mind goes.
Bloom inside for another day.

But there are questions to be asked..
There are questions to be answered..
But are there any answers

Will the scars remain?
Will the time come?
Will the sun rise?
Will the bloom be like was imagined?

Everything happens for the good says the heart
And faith follows it.
Bloom for another day
Bloom for another day.