I’ve got a company you can count
– The lot my folks adore.
They hold a strong, rancid belief
That I’ll ever be sore.
Father had said, “Be like your bro
“He works for a big bank.
“Balance accounts just like him, son
And, me you’d later thank.”
Mother’s offer was easier
-She just wanted a son
Who would earn her a nice dossier
And, in rain, be her sun.
They knew so well about this camp
Before I took my dive.
And, how they warned me severally
Of the long, piercing knives.
Today, they have a wild, long laugh
Whene’er we sit to talk.
They know of our unheld meetings
And lack of common chalk.
Their eyes for me bear pity now
Whene’er I do return
To tell of classes that don’t hold.
They, sometimes, laugh to scorn.
They have told me severally
That I’m wrong to be here.
They say it matters not to them
How much I claim to care.
One thing they know and won’t give off
Is that my clique is bad
And they find it one mystery
That I claim to be glad.
They’ve told me many tales
Of my life hereafter
“Don’t fool yourself, pal”, a friend said.
“You’re doomed Mr. Teacher!”
For the great love their hearts for me
Do bear continually
Their eyes can’t shut over
My clique’s anomaly.
They say our camp is beautiful
-It peeves even the dung.
They wait daily and always get
For us a scornful song.
“We told you so!” I hear them rant,
As they remind me now
How to their many gestures kind
I had refused to bow.
We wait for classes under trees.
Our meets aren’t regular.
And, we’d still be first to write
Exams each semester.
Our library is a joke
-Just few go there to read
The store of knowledge remains still
Like a large field of weed.
I’d push on with this hope
That we aren’t far from light.
But, let all and sundry know
Very deep is my fright.