I wandered at night to the old school, hearing a ghostly laughter.
Choked and ridiculed, much like our old school master.
Moonlit moss, with dewdrops dead; a gloss over a fallen thread.
They told me, he was a lunatic, So he thought and he taught.

About beautiful gardens that are no more, and visions imperfect.
“It is unpardonable not to sing, not to see, and not to correct”.
Over the last few years, I have choked on his songs!

The moral science lectures are abandoned, they say,
but you can pass because they don’t teach anyways.
Those who learnt, unlearned fast.
There is a new hit- Education of the day!

Once outside the ancient School gate,
Yet again I hesitate,
with familiar conundrum and pain.
Which way now, Left or Right?
One acceptable and the other insane.
Either path leads, but to debt collectors,
yet I take the right, once again.

I promise to return that which I owe, when I return.
I am sure it might be soon,
when now hopeless flowers, on the eastside bloom.
I’ll join the drunk hopefuls small gathering,
out of love for shrinking rooms.

Though I know I will pause again outside the gate,
And may be refuse to learn to love ‘hate’,
And I can’t promise on that full moon night
that I’ll take a final right
….or resist a final flight.

– Ajay Priyadarshi