Not enough pencils
in the class;
but
far too many,
erasers I find.
Not enough colors
in the class;
yet
far too many,
canvases I see.
A lot of paint
in many cans;
but
a single color,
to paint with.
Printed letters running miles;
on white pages,
with
facts and figures,
hard to memorize.
My mind longs escape,
from the mundane,
but
chains on desks
hold me tight.
Ardent faces looking on
with such hope;
but
what do I
have to provide?
My wings too were
clipped long ago
and
I too know
nothing, about flight.
I wish; I could
share some failures
but
I have none,
never having tried.
I just repeat heroics;
of generations of
birds
who never learnt,
how to fly.
© Jay Kaushal
