It was a class
like a busy street
packed with shouts.
Little citizens laden with thoughts;
but some dressed with prankish robes criss-cross
inside the furnace of back-breaking learning.
I pushed myself into the furnace,
And I knew I would be tried hot;
Yet it had been destined in my career.
I hid myself behind the factual text
Which had no answer to my knowledge.
I posed a question unto the little citizens
Who ne'er thought of back-breaking business.
I shouted unto them of a mental sum,
For I had no way known to subdue their shouts,
And it was the question I'd posed:
'How much is if six in mind and five in hand? '
The prankish citizens poured water o'er my question,
And I knew I'd been in the furnace.
I cracked the puzzle across the pandemonium 'gain;
Yet there was no way out for the answer.
With the childish anger I picked up a boy
Who smiled at me bluntly;
Yet his smile pronounced ameaning.
I flung the puzzle across his face:
'How much is if six in mind and five in hand? '
He smiled at me.
It wasa slap on my cheek.
My tongue slipped in my questioning:
'What is in your head, my boy, little? '
Though little, he found it was a 'slip-up',
So he flung across correction with his answer:
'It's brain! '
I took pain to correct my question,
But his question unto me was challenging
hidden in, a mind-boggling answer:
'Where's my mind seated in? '
I had no answer for his.
I heard the boy say:
'He's my teacher! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem