School is war,
class is a battle.
My soul roars,
As my riffle rattles.
Fear hides in the core,
As I begin to tattle.
One by one stood in line,
stood to attention
with pencil made from pine
with everlasting tension
We're running out of time
scared beyond comprehension
But what can I do?
Who can I see?
Where can I go?
How can this be?
Student voices grow louder
as chaos gets worse
The headaches get stronger
as life becomes a curse
Pencil marks like gun powder
We've become perverse
Am I lost?
Am I blind?
This warfare is not kind.
Insults fly like bullets,
The time like bombs,
Teachers always shouting
When you've done nothing wrong.
What is this world?
What is this place?
Do I belong here?
It's a disgusting disgrace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem