In the library

--

I see him sitting
At the corner desk,
Reading a thick book, drowned.
He,Though in the corner,
Of my attention, is centre.
I have heard about him
From the other teachers;
Dedicated,
Smart,
And manners pleasing too.

I look at him, captivated.
A smile on his lips,
A glow in his eyes,
And on his face, contentment.
I wonder at his aura,
At his young age, marvel.
Son of a rich father, must be
And a doting mother too,
To be so at peace within
And with the world outside too.

He is writing something,
In his little red book,
As alone I stand, wondering.
He closes his book,
And packs his bag,
As towards him I walk, hesitating.
A crumpled page,
Slides off the desk, unnoticed
And to my feet, glides.
He turns around, unaware
And reaches for something behind.
I pick up the page, uncertain
On it written a single line,
Seven little words stare at me
‘To my Ma n Pa in heaven’.

A shiver runs through me,
As I stand there stunned
My myth about him broken.
I say a silent prayer
And turn to look at him, shaken.
He is walking away
Head held high,
The smile on his face touches.
The silence on me, heavy
Broken only by the echo
Caused by his crutches.

--