Good Morning Sir Poem by ashok jadhav

(A classroom. Morning light filters in. A student stands, half-awake, half-afraid, voice respectful yet burdened.)

Good morning, sir.
I say it every day—
two words dressed in politeness,
ironed smooth like my uniform.
Good morning, sir,
though the night was long,
though sleep never came,
though my mind arrived here late.
I stand straight when I say it.
Eyes forward.
Hands still.
Because mornings here
are not just about greetings—
they are about obedience.
Good morning, sir,
even when my questions burn my tongue,
even when curiosity is told to wait,
even when mistakes feel like crimes.
You see a classroom.
I see a battlefield of marks, ranks, futures.
You see silence as discipline.
I call it fear learning to behave.
Yet still—
I mean it, sometimes.
Because you hold the power of doors:
open them with words,
close them with a look.
Good morning, sir,
from a generation trying to prove worth
before we've learned who we are.
Teach me, not just the lesson on the board,
but how to speak without shaking,
how to fail without shame,
how to greet a morning
without fear hiding in respect.
So yes—
Good morning, sir.