-The Chalk Beneath My Fingernails-
I walk a path where roads dissolve,
Where rivers rise and hopes revolve,
Through jungle mist and dusty lanes,
With every step, I carry names—
Of children born with hollow bowls,
But eyes that shine like tempered coals.
The schoolhouse leans against the sky,
Its roof a patchwork, spirits high.
The walls may crack, the floor may creak,
But voices...
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