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Sankhajit Bhattacharjee Poem 118

Scientific Research Fellow in University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee


I know a school teacher well.

Listen to him or go to hell.

He is the boss of all.

Everything is under his control.

He creates students in each field.

In front of him one must yield.

He is the sole pioneer.

He is high; others are low at every hour.

Deeply if you inquire-

a mass of air within an earthen cover

you will find, he is an empty pot,

which makes a sound lot.

I, as a child, gave him respect

but with age my knowledge cannot but detect.

I now ignore and laugh

as his lecture makes me mad half.

© 2020 Sankhajit Bhattacharjee

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