In the class the blackboard
Turns silent when wiped clean
The children pretend to be quiet
With their eyes talking to one another
The teacher battles to shepherd minds
That wander over imaginary pastures
To be in the moment is hardly learnt
Till the last moments are upon us
Dying is nothing new as the poet said
Do we remember the deaths before death?
The time when we lost what we thought we had?
The child we could not be for long?
The native city we had to walk away from
Though the past came running after us crying?
As life moves from one death to another
The last one is like the ones that came before.
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