Still I am going to school and nobody sits in the class.
Peeled walls look so sad like an old fresco
And I think of my old friends.
A piece of chalk and the duster
Still remain in a corner on the rack below the blackboard.
Some letters were missing in the old essays but readable.
Before I step down I hear the echoes of music teacher's melancholy voice
And I never thought a chalk could speak like a parrot.
'Hey! Master I watched your regrets and I want to tell you that some of your friends already stuck in a home for the elders.
Your favorite teacher was retired and she collects her last pension it seems.
But it's glad to see still you look as a student's charisma with your old haversack.
Please come another day after the refurbishment of the school
Then you could see the new students and teachers
And I promise to reserve a seat for my lonesome Master.'
* To Sandra Fowler in gratitude.
Beautiful, nostalgic, and poignant. Only nimal dunuhinga could have written this. I am honored by your dedication. In the school of poetry, I give you exceptional marks. Fond regards, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This journey into your school-day past is very beautiful, Nimal, despite the peeling poverty of the image you paint with such a decrepit brush. I particularly liked the touch of humor when you describe your old music teacher's melancholy voice: 'And I never thought a chalk could speak like a parrot.' This sort of whimsical humor is reminiscent of some of the French art films of the mid 20th Century. Your dedication to Sandra is noted. She is not only a fine poet, but a good friend whose honest and insightful comments are to be treasured, always. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥