Suicide Note of a Teacher

Abhilash Balan

Before long, it will be time to depart,
Counting days, a few days to go; says the calendar.
Gallops the hour hand asap.

I walk the corridors contemplating the remembrance past, being chased with moaning blood.

I can’t help but find corridors bare,
Though school corridors are an infested pear.
It is where I called her for private tuition.
It is where I saw what she hides inside and many in turn.

Ah, before long, memories are meant to fade,
Can I fly beyond as a new man?
Tried and failed, failed with more effect to what I had been!

It fades to no pigtails that once were pulled,
Now no boy-bums to be spanked and breasts to draw the arrows underneath.

No more little bookworms crawling around, with no gender bar,
kneeling to unzip me, expecting better internal marks.
Murmuring girls commenting on my cupidian eyes, but fakes a smile when encountered
and boys habitual to spit as if some sewage drops from memory shows up.

Before long, it will be time to bid adieu,
I inculcated and failed to never eye on, and kept my arrows down,
to reborn as a new teacher.

Now it’s time to depart,
Counting seconds, a few to pass by, says the clock in mind,
Where the hour hand is stopping its gaits.

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