TEACHERS: THE LETTERED TORCHBEARERS

When I turn back and watch lone miles,
I see old roads in leaves and dust.
But there beside an old bench smiles,
And waves as a silhouette from yon past.

'Tis not the bench but a soul divine,
A soul whose demeanour bestowed skills.
For years on years; with no glimpse of shine,
It carried us safe on noetic wheels.

Each step we moved and each new road,
Saw we glimpses all anew.
There they stood with a chalk and board,
And taught us lessons with scoldings few.

Like a seed to a tree grows great,
We grew tall with the sky too close.
Savouring days and cherishing fate,
We saw less thorns and more good rose.

Crossed we miles and mountains tall,
Crossed we oceans with sharks around.
All new miles with rise and fall,
Yet we flew high like flocks unbound.

Here we stand and there they smile,
As foaming brooks of knowledge and skills.
Last perhaps yet long this mile,
Shall make us find the treasured zeal.

Your diligent deeds and graceful voice;
Reverberate as a hermits call,
And clarion amidst each strident noise,
Offers abundance to each soul.

Let me vow and touch your feet,
And kiss the dust on which you walk.
Let me follow your steps discrete,
And reach atop the golden rock.

Bless me true with wands you hold,
Reprimand if walk I wrong.
I seek noesis; not bright gold,
Take me through each path along.

True torchbearers; lettered a soul,
Teachers speak the voice of each.
Leading smooth to sundry goals,
They hold our hands untill we reach.
© Dipanjan