Hands Crossed, On My Desk Poem by Christos R. Tsiailis

“Walk” they told me, “a long way back and forth, across the class”

My feet feel tired kilometers after
and I, abused, alas.

For the moving eyes of the mass are like stones thrown to cause a smash
How with this bruise I need to sense the power of the other in here brash.

Two Giants fight
and I, the one, alas.

The chalks aimful should become
What if in the climax of my knowledge – pass
on the desk I sat, kept on my task?
Then I’d relax, abuse back
and let the ray of the clever eyes focus
to a motionless harassing of my tie.
But this would cause a burn greater than ever, there,
at the point between my lungs and heart.

All – powerful, except for the missing contact of that unique pupil,
making it hard to day-dream of white, fragmental mountains of chalk
and disturb this eternal poem being written.