The Classroom with Two Doors

On one side of town, the morning wakes bright,
Walls warmed by sunlight, a kingdom of light.
Books stand like promises, steady in a row,
Where futures rise easily, certain to grow.

A young girl sits dreaming, stars held in her pen;
Her teachers speak softly, “You can be anything then.”
Her desk is unshaken, her lunchbox is full,
The world spreads before her—wide, warm, and beautiful.

— But over the town where the shadows fall long,
Another child hums a far different song.
The lights flicker faintly, the cold evening creeps,
His textbooks are older than secrets he keeps.

He writes on a desk worn thin with its age,
His stomach a drum beating hunger and rage.
The chalk snaps in two before lessons begin,
Yet he shows up each morning, determined to win.

Back to the girl in her clear, glass-lined space,
Where knowledge runs freely, a stream she can trace.
She paints all her hopes in bright colors and gold,
A future laid out for her, certain and bold.

And back to the boy, carrying worlds on his back—
He studies by streetlamp when power turns black.
His dreams are as noble, as brilliant, as grand,
But heavy with burdens he never once planned.

For talent is equal, but chances are not;
Two doors, two beginnings—one cherished, one forgot.
Yet both hearts beat fiercely, still reaching for more,
Both stretching toward tomorrow from uneven floor.

If peace is a promise, let justice draw near:
Give each child a path that’s unknotted by fear.
The world finds its freedom the moment we say—
No dream is too distant, no child turned away.

And though their roads differ like night and full day,
A spark burns in both, refusing decay.
May we open the doors injustice once closed,
Till futures bloom freely where hope is supposed.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2025

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Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace