Her
My Favorite Teacher
It might have felt lost,
In the big world of old age pillars;
once those tiny hands slipped away,
from being her fathers fillers.
From afar came Her ,
Assuring him Of me;
and hers was I to take care of.
With Her had my father shared;
my falls and winter cold silences.
In Amongst the marks of excellence
she applauded my bits of writings,
In amongst whole classes neglect
she approved my ideas considerate of
some `relevance`.
Upheld were all those who didn’t even try;
I sat silently,
while she upheld My work `well described `
while, My falling drawbacks were in well disguise.
It might have felt lost ,
If I didn’t have the direction
to turn my shortcomings ;
to learn a skill
Beautifully to soak myself in.
In whole of the chaotic chaos
Set up around Me,
there was one escape to fresh start
with her reading of the stories ;
From those each lesson she read
in English literature;
Her each pause and flawless dialect,
gave words to my frozen picture.
Now Hers are the words I speak
Hers is this world I have meet;
Made Me look beyond Restrictions
and become this Person
who Breathes this fresh air of Fiction.
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