"clas" poems
Here thinking
Is it worth it
All that hard work
Trying to get his attencion
Risking my education
Trying to be there for him
While he doesnt realize I am there.
Is it all part of destiny
Or is it a part of life
Is it all what I have done
It is all because of my mistakes
I am here
Wondering if he ever thinks of me
Hoping that he loves me to
Wishing he could look
At my smile and fall for me
Just like I fell for him
I love him,
wishings he loved me
Yet in English clas
He does not even turn my way
I wish he could know
But I am not scared to say anything
I wish he could understand
That I am falling in love every second
Even more
I need him to see
I need him to know
That every second
I think of what could be
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 3:36 PM UTC
*1951
Manchester in
The North West Of England
The city was broken after the war.
England had won it was said
But it didn't feel like that we won.
I remember the
old smoke stained bricks
of the inner city school.
I remember it in sepia
It had no colors back then.
Nothing did.
Until she came to teach us.
She was beautiful her silks
flowed from her like clouds.
So many colors reds
and magentas and pink and blues
I looked at her and
I wanted to be with her
She was the brightest thing I had seen
since the war had ended.
She said she was from India.
And her dress was a sari.
She had my heart with the
gentle softness of her voice.
Her windchime bracelets
on her lovely honeyed skin tinkled.
But it was her tranquility
that floored me.
She would ask
what have you learned today?
share it with us.
We spoke in a cacophony.
Hush now children she whispered.
listen and learn from each other.
You will all get a turn.
Then when we were troubled
she would drop an important meeting
with adult teachers.
I have an urgent need to speak
with one of my students
She said.
I remember once
i said to her Mrs. Chowdhury.
Why should we work so hard?
there are no jobs anymore.
She said softly but firmly
I know you all each and every one of you.
Her sari swished even louder
I knew I had said the wrong thing.
There is a teacher,
a doctor,
a nurse,
a poet,
a craftsman,
a soccer player,
just in this clas,
i can see it,
I Know this.
Then she opened
the old classroom window.
and the cool spring air
filtered into the chalky room.
The lilac perfumes drifted into the room.
What is that fragrance class?
It is Lilacs,
Mrs. Chowdhury,
we sang in unison.
Yes, it is lilacs children.
Last year they all died
with the winter storms.
But now they are back
as sweet as ever.
The jobs died with the war.
But they will be back.
You must all learn as much
as you can to take them.
children.
She never lost a single chance
to teach us something.
I get back to the UK
every now and then .
I am a doctor.
perhaps the one she saw
in her class so long ago.
I call in to see her
in her tiny retirement flat
in Manchester.
She pours me a cup of green tea.
Into a delicate china cup.
It is grown in the foothills
of the Himalayas
she whispers
it is picked young.
so fresh so nourishing.
Never losing her chance
to teach me something new.
Now tell me
what new things
have you learned in America .?*
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 6:16 PM UTC
what can¿
be {un}done
when ^ i ^ can ^ trace
my loves
by the | books |
that. rest.
on _ my _ table
waves & seeds
Pablo & Angelo
russian classics
Ne₩ ¥ork
& pursuitsofhappiness
some [kind] of organized mess
@paper pages
fra. gile in their manner
hold/my/ghosts
<all those> lost whispers
have. moved. along.
[for me] words
al>ways> meant
so much =
#more
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 9:03 PM UTC
The care and concern that flooded his eyes when I told him I was hurt was like no other
Letting me skip clas, ride in his golf cart, driving me back and forth, telling me stories
I'm not ashamed to admit he was one of the most caring father figures in my life
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 10:58 AM UTC