The Constant strokes of white on black;
The endless blabber and mumbled chatters;
It's like each sound hammers the nail deeper into my skull.
Concentration escapes me,
It is far beyond my grasp.
Another half an hour until I'm free,
Temporal freedom is what I get.
But I need absolute liberation from this torture.
My liberator comes to my rescue-
Voices begin to drown in the sound
Of babbling brooks and buzzing bees;
These dull grey walls that box me in,
Are replaced by green turfs and clear blue skies;
The stench of chalk and dust
Are no more than pure floral aromas: sweet and fragrant.
Being in such a hellish place
Is just as laying on Elysian lawns-
All I have to do is learn to close my eyes, breathe and drift away.
Then the time is up-
There goes the bell and sighs of relief.
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