We are the generation, Of a tranquil wordless classroom, When the teacher asks an enlightening question. In a realm of presumed learning, I’m ringed by students absent, Gone to travel somewhere in their clever minds. We bury our brilliant ideas far into our heads, In unease that we may be judged, Or worse, Get the answer wrong. We sit rattled in our seats, Cognizant of all the answers. But when the teacher asks for a witted rejoinder, We forge a perplexed expression, And our gaze wanders off, From eye contact. We crave so much from this makeshift life, We possess dreams that skyrocket through the roof of this stunted classroom, This school, This planet. We own dreams that could spiral upwards into space, Dreams that aspire to dance with the stars. It all starts in the classroom. Raise your hand, And let loose, Your dynamic brain.