Flogging A Dead Horse Poem by Dr PJ Raj Kamal

Clothes frayed pupils wear
Cast-offs a privilege
Safety pins as hooks
Prickly cactus thorns too
Many noses bleed
and smile tartar yellow
Hostile flies feast on
inflamed wounds

Barefoot they walk
miles on, muddy roads
and soggy bunds
To dine on letters and words
Books a bundle in hand
banded tight, edges torn
A fountain pen leaky
in the pocket
Bottom tip showing up
through a gaping vent

As the assembly bell rings
Pupils fall in lines
As the morning sun shines
In a faint someone falls
Morning prayer thus
to the pale and weak
A cold sprinkle, water a glass
Brings back life
for that day's class lessons

Time of noon meal
No meal, but water plentiful
Guzzle in a breath, a hustle
at the school well
A child war to tame
the hunger flames

Vivid portrayal of Oliver Twist
the destitute
And his plight for soup, a bowl
as non-detail
Teacher's struggle to no avail
on fagged out minds
and empty guts ulcerated
Only pangs get exhumed

Naughty boys sneak
into neighbor's fields
during a break
to trick and steal
sweet or sour, fruits whatever
Robin Hood and his band
Some return in a triumph
Some sore impaled
in a barbed fence of wire
Or bruised in a bush of brier
Clothes torn, oozing blood
The reckless on a raid
in the orchard is but caught
and stripped

Math a nightmare
English even more
Stands a statue in the sun's scorch
for an imposition incomplete
Master peels the skin so tender
under the arms
Stands on the toes frozen
And as pressure mounts
on the scaffold dies
misery and strife
A nightmarish life
His rage never dies
Flogs on the buttocks
down the thighs
Showing no remorse
Flogging a dead horse