When I was four:
Fowls amused me,
School was foul.
Why should a foul stop me
From running after fowls?

When I was five:
I had mastered the art
Of wailing when Dad’s big radio
Wakes me.

I dreaded Mondays,
Loathed Tuesdays
But smiled hugely when
The loud bell at school
Eventually obeyed the clarion call
After minutes of staring at it
On Fridays to chase the heightened
And lauded extracurricular activities.

When I was six:
My Mathematics teacher
Made my breath cease.
Maths was war,
The classroom, a warfront.
Teacher’s whip, her stinging bullet from her side,
My tears, harmless pellets from my side.
Mathematics period was a period
for bloodshot eyes from my side.

When I was seven,
I started liking school
After an encounter with a teacher
Who smiles at me largely.
I started discovering the power
In my books, pen and the organ
In my once locked due to excess knocking head.

When I was eight,
I had stopped hating school.
“School is fun, just get the works done.”
I started dreaming dreams.
I enrolled in a mental school of thoughts
And voluntary works.

Age eight catapulted me
To a realm:
A realm designed for seriousness.
I stopped being a whimpering child
Who cried and detested going to school.
School became a second home
And gradually, I became responsible.

As a responsible lass,
I wish I can go back to my days
As a four-year-old and effect changes
But if that be,
I would be a bore.

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