She was a young girl,
As good as a pearl,
But at her school desk,
She was a bit slack.
She was poor in her study,
But for games always ready.
To pull her up, her teacher tried.
O’er that, she only cried.
The teacher found no way
And told her one day,
“Bring your father, better,
Let him know the matter.”
It was another torture,
For this little creature,
How to face her mother
Or her strict father?
She told her parents,
And heard their grunts.
It disturbed her a lot
That touched her heart.
The next day morning,
With no prior warning,
Her father’s gun she stole,
And shot at her temple.
Her life, one bullet sucked.
Her parents were shocked.
In Times of India this came.
Hot wild news it became.
Who’s at fault for this?
The teacher or the books?
The parents or the children?
Or the school, as a burden?
(Based on the news in the
Times of India dated 5-3-2008)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
One little girl's happiness was worth more than the knowledge to be found in a thousand books. Now she is with Someone who appeciates her quality. Thank you for writing this, Rajaram. You will be blessed for your compassion. Fine work, as always. Your distant friend, Sandra