My teachers yesteryear
Potters of men
When we carried slates on our heads
Bare foot to and fro school
Scribbled with white chalks
Counted 1,2,3, with pebbles
Chanted A, B, C D, on dirty floors
Pinching each other like moonlit plays
Countless minute by minute fight
Eager only to hurry home for lunch.
(Wednesday 12th November,1997)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem