Ananya Guha – Poem

School Days

Spiralling trees and winter is a reminder

to the seasons and those brushy rains

coming and going with the tepid sun

masquerading as the good friend.

Classes over, the college looked

like a ruminating ghost with dry flowers

speckled by dust. Even the Principal was missing

the gardener played his tantrums with dope seething

into his head, doing a catwalk of dangerous intent.

We laughed in the college grounds as the football

danced around hairy, kicking legs. College.

The rains came  splashing among corridors of iron hope

and school was delinquent, delirious with the Irish Brothers teaching

us a thing or two about caning. We loved them as they played our cricket

and our football, taught us Shakespeare, took us to the theatre to learn the act

of acting.When Murphy died, the literature within me spilled on to drifting winds unknown, or when he left.

Now when winter makes appearance the school bell clangs

and, in his cassock stands Brother O’Neill.