Rain of Shame

Poetry in less than 10 mins, just for prac­tice. It helps to sit out­doors and look for sto­ries hid­den in plain sight.

We’ve all seen that one kid
At the back-bench of the class­room,
Where no mat­ter how loud the instruc­tor gets,
Is always the one miss­ing word after word,
And he is invis­i­ble, like a nee­dle lost in a haystack,
Whose sheen may not be noticed,
But whose prick is often felt,
Whose enquiry, “Professor, I have a doubt” is ignored,
But whose sud­den slip into a day-dream is noticed.
We’ve all seen it. We’ve all been there.
A ques­tion mark on the black­board,
A ques­tion in the kid’s mind,
And laugh­ter behind the back,
A rain of mock and shame
Followed by the teacher’s thun­der­ing rage,
As their page is replaced by the prospects of pun­ish­ment.
Would it be a stick red­den­ing the lit­tle palms?
Or stand­ing up on the bench and hold­ing ears
Like a zoo ani­mal for everyone’s amuse­ment?
Or stand­ing out of the class­room for the world to know
That no mat­ter the error, this child is unwor­thy?
Going home is not easy with such a bur­den on one’s shoul­der,
In a back­pack that could instead be car­ry­ing a dream.
Going home is not easy when it’s rain­ing.
Mamma will notice you drenched in shame.
No first-aid can heal the scars in the soul,
And no med­i­cine can cure the life-long fever­ish echoes,
“It’s not worth it, it’s not worth it, it’s not worth the trou­ble,
No mat­ter what you do, you will FAIL!
There will be pain and hail, It’s not worth it”,
In a class­room, where sheen is nev­er noticed,
But every prick is felt,
What is the point of strug­gling for excel­lence
At all?


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