The Memories Of My Primary School Poem by Chris Prabu

There is a place
I rarely have a chance to visit.
Where once I spent my lovely days
With unlimited joy and bliss.


A boy in a short kakhi half trouser
With the hair of dripped coconut oil
Sitting curiously at the last row of the class.
Oh! That memories are still green.


I was proud when reached the class early
And felt extremely nervous if went late.
That four walls of my class rooms
Witnessed all of my emotions.


I was awfully ignorant
Yet delighted in every seconds.
Each minutes was so heavenly
Like being in Shangri-La.


That place was the testament
For my first sin and punishment
That made me stand outside of the class
For filched a blunt, broken pencil.


That stout principle who often vanished
And emerged from the toilet with the smell of cigar.
And that ever kind Rose Marry teacher,
The stringent teachers of class I, II.


The windowless huge classroom
Where anyone could come and go.
And that simple midday meal
Sharing with friends and some crows.


The small algae filled pond near the school
Where one could see the men with fishing hooks
And sometimes slimy poisonless water snake.
All are preserved pretty well in my mind.


That old, wrinkle granny
Who sat near the rusted gate
With her basket full of sour and sweet
Cherries, gooseberries and plums.


That giant tree on the way to school
Where I sneaked from the class
For collecting those red and green cherries
Scattered under the thick shade of the tree.


Whenever I think about that life
I magically turn as a naughty, curious boy
With colourful images of those
Unforgettable awesome days.


Everything is so fresh
Like a blooming morning flower.
And these memories keeping me
Young, joyful, innocent and ignorant.


My logical mundane mind
Crave for that illogical, delightful school days.
Oh dear God! Lets destroy my worldly knowledge
And bring me back to that mirthful paradise.