The Teacher

A teacher, A strange identity, Nameless, without a surname, Wordless, without recognition. A shared identity, A heartfelt tale in silence, A rebellion hidden within words. He, the veiled revolutionary, An unnoticed worker, Helplessly ill, a passive observer, A bearer of others’ dreams, Yet one who has lost his own. The teacher, a silent rebel. His faltering steps Leave invisible marks On society’s rugged surface. Yet, those very feet Build bridges carrying dreams, Helping others cross over, While he remains stuck on the edge. The teacher, An insignificant creature within the school, His name etched On society’s crumbled pillars, A bearer of nameless glory. He is the sun’s ray, Rising each morning, But forgotten by evening. His students turn into stars, Shimmering in distant skies, While his identity Remains clouded in darkness. The teacher who shares knowledge, Ends his life In a darkened room. Politicians call him a “nation-builder,” And he feels pride, Yet in their speeches, He is a subject of mockery. For they claim, “Knowledge isn’t for sale,” But his self-respect Is sold for mere pennies. His dreams Are auctioned in the open market. Though his words move the world, The teacher, the giver of words, Becomes worthless merchandise, Unbought, unnoticed. The teacher, A hidden figure of society, An invisible jester, A shadow behind the performers’ stage. Here, the players may change, But he remains constant, Worn out, patched, and torn. He teaches others to conquer the world, Yet he himself, Always defeated, always despondent. The teacher, A silent character, a supposed pride, A helpless existence, a subject of ridicule. His silence deepens the darkness. Now, he must speak. His words must cry out the truth, His seeds of knowledge Must root a revolution. Fear is his enemy, He must cast it aside. He is the sun, That dies at dusk, But returns each dawn, Carrying a new light. He has forgotten his identity, He is the silent rebel of society, Whose light Will birth a new morning.