Why has the shattered dream of school split into brown muds?
Why are those books charred to black dusts?
In our library, books with tales of chaos.
Our pens are now void inks;
Filled with nothingness
Our books are blonde cinder of a dead flame
.
Our pens and books no longer make us the future of tomorrow
They set before us a terbancle of the past
Clothing on us waned embroidery
And emblem of fruitlessness
.
School is now like a noise,with no impact of sound
A heir to the maroon clay;fruits of rot.
Our classes are like sardines caught up in a steel of can
Our teachers,the crown prince of laziness royal throne
.
With stack of cash,knowledge is fornicated
They astray with their ancestors folly
Prostituting wisdom for a shekels of silver
.
The tower of sound education crumbled into dust
Straddling to the ground’s height
And never rise like a fallen desert fox.
Crystal E poet
