Lunch hour(Poem)

Photo:iStock

It’s noon.
Ice-creams
and face-creams
weak.
Paper bags
nude.
Chalks put aside.
Blackboards
white
with high school trigonometry.

Now
is the sin-time
after sine-time
and cosine-time.

To be the Heisenberg
not the Walter white.
To make some sweat
and chills
in the foothills of back-benches
and the Kuiper belts of front-benches.

For 25 minutes
we own the time stone.
For 24 minutes
we are the waves
not the fake particles.

But when the bell rings
the end credits
rolls in.
the 911 time for us
sets in.


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