Beauty is a never-changing scale,
where corrupted justice bows to compromise.
Teenage skin whimpers
under the false products of lies.
Uniform claims all are the same,
only distinct by faces and beautiful names.
Truth floats away like dust,
like a piano key fading into loud laughter.
In class, we are divided by beauty and race,
prestige and grace.
First benches hold the topper,
they are gold.
But backbenchers?
Less than copper.
Teacher’s eyes want the best,
where slow learners are the avoidable mess.
Society values the highest grade
do they know how middle and low grades fade?
Some digits become life or death,
a strong wish turns into lack of faith.
They say, “It doesn’t matter,” yet the best is the nation’s treasure,
beauty and achievement the only measure.
Never the same.
No one to blame.
The classroom turns into an unnamed cage
that someone still hates.
In a corner, I observe.
Is this what we deserve?
Still here, admitted
for a future to be better.
I wonder about the outside world…
why does it feel bitter?
Maybe, like old happy card,
it has lost all its glitter.