Mr. Doofle: Our Perverse Teacher Poem by Rohit Pandey

Promendling along baily in backstreet,
coming our recluse but resilient teacher,
his books rest in hands as a kid's hand in mother's,
and a smile on face that never withers.
moving past downs, he reached a crepuscular place,
illuminated with cold moonbeam, varnishing everything milky, and evoking a feeling of being in dream.
nestling against a wooden pier,
he sat on aromatic grasses, enjoying musical brook, he opened his book, and adjusting his glasses, he went whole into it.
but was taken aback on my intrusion, as it was the time he wanted seclusion,
his eyes turned burning anthracite, and asked me to get out of his sight.
I calmly said, 'good eve. Mr. Doofle', why you here when there are no people,
he told me it's a long elegiac story,
'you can tell me' said i 'I am free'.



#.....TO BE CONTINUED!