A great art has been lost, before it ever truly began. So needed, so wanted, yet still destroyed. I wonder Where have the thinkers gone? Those curious innovators? They must’ve disappeared, forced to hide, to escape! When faced with the fear of a little wooden desk. They didn’t belong in a place where their vivid flame that burned within would be extinguished by those who meant well. In its place, a pulsing drum placed, beating furiously to a beat of A B C or D? I long for them, mourn those secrets left undiscovered, the joy that accompanied; forgotten. Like sheep killed by their shepherd, a tragedy for the ages as children become students. But do not worry! For the exam next week is passed, flying colors with small price to pay: a fail on another. The forgotten exam, the one not written sitting in rows. the one proctored not by a teacher but by life. I think to myself, must be easy, for I’m prepared! Those years of memorizing, the sleepless nights. Except when I open the booklet, a startling revelation! I panic. There’s no A B C or D.
I nervously share one of the poems with world, unsure about it. When I try to compose poetry, I simply go with the rhythm of the words, go where they choose to take me. Maybe this is an effective approach, maybe not, time will tell. I’m very new to this, I’d love some feedback too.
The poem is more a reflection on education as a whole in society then my own personal experience, because my whole life I have been blessed with exceptional teachers who have cultivated my passions and stoked the embers of my curiosity. All great shepherds. No complaints from me, except that not every kid is privy to the same nurturing environments and education that I have received, and it is for those kids that this poem goes out to.