In my sorrow winds revealed the mirror of life,
In my joyful mood I felt not the heat of the sun,
In my adversities I bended knees raising my hands,
In my victory I abandoned the Being that echoes in minds,

When would I stop schooling in that old school of nature,
The teachers of old had whipped my back tearing my clothes,
Where would I see my pencil lost for years,
When would I graduate from that old school, asked.

In my elementary class I lost the colour of my hairs,
Why my teachers riding old painless bicycles for life, I asked,
When would they dash out that old coats of their forefather's,
O my teacher when would I go break and encyling my life.

Punish me not O my teacher, I'm not only one who tore my cloth,
Won't you pity for me, for the strokes flogged count not my wounds,
When would I tuck in since my shirt does not match my belt,
When would my trousers being ironed like bankers.

Graduate me O my teacher for my teeth are pooling,
Please, seize me not in that little class for my children are getting old,
Give me not your local pencil, for I want to write in foreign blue ink,
I'm old man in old class room,
When would I set my eyes on that woman of mine,
O when would I ring bell in my new class.
© Nwankwo Johnson C.