Notice:
“All students are requested
to observe a minute’s silence
in memory of the brave girl
who succumbed to death in Delhi...”
“Waiting for Godot,” said the teacher,
“is a typ-”
Tring.
Silence
punctuated by the buzz
of words whirling within thirty heads.
God save her soul, thought some.
What kind of animals are they,
wondered some others.
The horror of it all made them shudder.
What a blemish on our country’s image,
was another’s lament.
Some thanked god in private
for sparing them her fate.
The chatterbox of the class
marvelled at the discovery
that she too can keep her mouth shut,
if only for a minute.
Was it two minutes for Indira Gandhi’s death anniversary?
Never mind.
Tring.
“As I was saying,” the teacher’s words
drowned in the cacophony of students
cleansing themselves of a minute’s silence.
“Waiting for Godot is a typical-”
Bang!
Silence.
“-example for an absurd play.”
YOU ARE READING
Poetic Blues
PoetryTonight, my love is the rain that fills the heart while it lasts and leaves sweet pain in its wake. Poems-- my way of clearing my mind. Highest Ranking: #3 in Poetry ~~~ 18 December 2016
