24/10/2019
The Other End Of The Table
The first time, I stood
At the other end of the table
In a dusty classroom,
I realized that nothing prepares you
For wide eyes, and vacant expressions,
Some ready to dive in, some unwilling to be there.
Some thirsty to run their hands
On a map of the world;
Fingers tracing the Mississippi,
A small pin, on Vatican City,
And some restless to run towards
A dream with its roots in the stars,
Reminding us how big the world can be.
We say we have learned the countries by heart
And teach them where Madagascar is;
But what have you seen,
If not a village in the mountains,
Through Frost’s poem or
Daffodils through
Wordsworth’s words.
And who are we kidding with the memorized tables,
When the only math we do,
Is count the hours left to get home?
I wish we taught our children to learn to speak
Through hands, and loving through words,
And gave them books to read,
That spoke like Keats in autumn,
To be their best friends.
I wish we taught them to paint
And color outside the lines,
Before we asked them to learn
The Alphabet by heart
But I am hopeful,
Because standing on the other side of the table,
I can give them so much,
Not just a page out of their school books
Or a chapter, some scholar wrote,
Not just a story that they must learn in class,
Or six sentences to write on monsoon,
I can teach them to imagine, beyond these books,
And teach them how they can be anything,
I can teach them to smile at a passer-by
I can teach them to write a story of their own.
-Shivanshi Bhadouria
