Friday, December 5, 2008

Through the Eyes of a Teacher

With my back turned on them
I’d caught myself
In the act of scrawling
With broken chalk pieces
I’d shaped many-a-letter into words
All this while
The polished surface kept up the sheen

But now
The sheen is slowly fading off
And the chalk is dwindling
Into flakes of dust
Gathered on my bare palms
Smudging the lines of Fate

With slow, gray hands
I hold yet another chalk-piece
In my frail fingers
Scrubbing the board
I step back
Rubbing my eyes
As letters lose their shape
Dissolve into words
And words into nothingness
A graveyard of unknown faces.

I wonder
If they ever knew
What I could not
All those who drilled a hole
Through my back
Peering hard all these years.


  1. We have all peered hard through the back of some teacher to make meaning of the words scrawled on the board to reach where we are today.

    Thank you to the all the teachers for their effort and a bigger thanks to them for smudging their lines of fate while making ours. May we never forget our teachers. They helped shape us.

  2. Hello Sir,
    I was looking for some breathing exercises and stumbled upon this blog of yours.The poem is lovely and brought back memories from the department. Hope you are well and happy Sir.
    Best Wishes, Manjit

  3. Yes, perhaps we never did or may not ever know, as you may have not...and still seek..does it matter? as i type with gray of my hands, rubbing my eyes while i step back...Does it really matter?

    From one who DID drill holes through your back...

    Much love,