The Old School

Moving slowly through the old corridors
Past the old embrittled walls of my school
I heard a constant hubbub of children
Playing and running around
Perhaps they were the hope
Of this decaying edifice
As I moved on, I saw every classroom
Each was empty, But no...

A young one of about six
Was sitting alone
His gaze fixed at the garden outside
His mind probably set in a different world
I was overcome by a deep desire
To ask him why he wishes to be alone
Why has his mates deserted him
Why doesn’t he play among the twigs and flowers?
That he is secretly admiring
I thought it better to watch him from far
As he picked up a pencil and started to write
On a piece of paper

He was writing or may be scribbling
His expressions turning from furious to calm
To quiet still, or rather, sorrow
Then he rose, and with an effort, started to walk
He limped as he made his way through the door
I hid myself and then, when he was out of sight,
I went inside and read the manuscript
There, amid the incorrectly written words
And a horrible penmanship
Lay his grief
The grief of being deserted
The grief of being rejected

All this was reflected in one question
I know that life is meant for the fittest
But can’t I have a chance to live my own?
It was ill-framed, but how powerful!
I was touched by his innocent petition and wondered…

Why was he been left unanswered?
Why, in the midst of care, has his silent grief been unnoted?
And then I wondered
Was it the age of it, or such loopholes
That had embrittled the edifice…