I ask that you be heard, tossed about and dreamed of.
It is your thoughts, my upset energies, and nightly turbulence.
Sleep provokes night and life and darkness prevailing in us.
When we wake up we are gone as our night precedes dawn
It is always the other way, bottom up and spaces spread.
At times we hear the police van’s shrieks, in night’s iron grill.

I ask that you be heard, tossed about and dreamed of.
It is not always the stick beating the road in rhythmic silence
And olive-green overcoat with flapped pockets and heavy boots
And six months old large-sized memories of a Himalayan home
With black-lined large dove’s eyes flitting among coal fires
Their smoke towering over the pines in snow-bound peaks.


I ask that you be heard, tossed about and dreamed of.
It is the turbulence we are speaking of, in the foggy sea we are
Or on the peaks where everything is bound in fuzzy snow
At the mountain passes where vehicles duly pass oiled by hot tea
Or in the mist-filled airports where aircrafts do not take off
Of politicians who decide mankind’s future in the apocalypse.


I ask that you be heard, tossed about and dreamed of.
It is my dreams as they were and the neighbor’s dreams
In the straw-roof, in the banyan trees with glints in their eyes
And much fine-powdered dust on their thick –coated leaves,
In lonely watchmen’s houses on the bleak stony spaces
And lonely watchmen keeping vigilant eyes on boulders
Strewn in brown spaces and scraggy bushes with strange lizards.


I ask that you be heard, tossed about and dreamed of.
It is the towering tombs and the trees that enveloped them
The children playing cricket in flying bats and stone stumps
Outside the vaults where kings and queens lay dead for ages
Their cold breath felt on the broken glass of Time’s windows.
I ask that you, I and women play a game of kabaddi in the trees
When it is still not dark enough in the minarets in the west
And children are still hitting ***** visible in the green of the trees.

My crazy classroom is really very insane,
The condition of my classmates is very hard to explain.
In front of Rajmangal Sir, no one dares to chat,
The boys in my class are fearless like the big cat.
We always messed around Pujari sir because he rarely shouts,
Many never care and thought 'what literature is all about'??
The teaching of Vivek sir made me study hard,
Sir's favorite topic used to be probability related to the card.
Specifically, sir's voice that can be heard from far away classes,
He treats everyone equal and shows us the right path whenever he passes.
Few words of Yogesh sir create a nice atmosphere in the class for us to study,
He explains things like our buddies.
Alok sir is one of the most experienced teacher we had in our school,
So no one can ever try to make him fool.
Now coming back to my own class,
Were few are serious of studies and few meant for time pass.
Swapnil is the one who studies in advance,
Some are always ready to sing and a few ready to dance.
Ayush and Kshitej Meshram are called the world bank,
Seriously they are like cheques, signed but amount is blank.
Because of boldness Smriti resembles a boy,
The quarrel between me and Vinod is what all enjoy.
Piyush is a genius but he doesn't admit,
Sachin is the person which always talks ****.
Actually, Amit is called a silent killer,
He has the potential to reach from Dravid to Miller.
Then comes kancha my friend,
His small eyes and lovely smile is what in trend.
Nived and meshram are the music champs of the school,
Because of music there, a mind is always cool.
Then comes dabad who is very hard to understand,
He always does the work which is well planned.
Meshram is the one who does what he wants to at that moment,
He always wants to be ahead of his opponents.
Also, meshram and sachin are always ready to play kabaddi,
But on the court instead of playing, they just jump like poppy.
Then comes my bestie Toppo,
We have taken many photos from pujari sir's oppo.
Mitesh is the moody person in our class,
Only for a short period his sweetness usually last.
Bongali is one of the favorite characters in the class we had,
He says English so fast that it makes the students mad.
Then the besti pair of sandy and Loki,
For them in kabaddi the funny player is Prajapati.
Shubhum is intelligent and very shy,
How can he be so silent makes me think why??
Vishal anna comes the next in order,
Seeing him and his partner I think they had a speech disorder.
Maravi is the hidden football player that not many know about,
He is really intelligent than Vinod no doubt.
Shishir is my best friend; you are part of my heart,
We go through ups and downs, but still, nothing can tear us apart.

A home away from home,
Is how I merily define a school.
Running in silent corridors,
Not wanting to go in morning assemblies,
Finishing lunch while teacher's teaching,
Passing chits when they caught us gossiping.
Our tiffin boxes were empty before recess,
Fun was snatching other's lunch then.
Years later don't know will these be remembered or not,
But those 'samosas of canteen' will really be missed a lot.
When teachers said " go out if you don't want to study"
We looked at each other to ask if they are ready.
We will really miss kabaddi and volley ball matches,
Between seniors and juniors.
Those lovely days of early ages,
And the open books with curly pages.
I will really miss each and every class,
Whether nursery or twelfth.
We will really miss,
The boring exercise of Saturdays,
And the 'Arora patties' on roadways.
We were sent to gain knowledge,
But we had all sorts of fun and games.
To teachers sending us out of class was a punishment,
But for us it was full source of entertainment.
Those lazy mornings and the lame reasons for not going to school,
Those fading school uniforms and opened shoe laces,
Those half opened eyes and closing school gates.
Few months later all won't be there.
Just a cherished memory,
Is going to become.