Front Bench Harbinger

The cuckoo sings enraptured,
By the beauty of the dawn;
Heralding of me being,
A front bench pawn.

It’s not as bad a place,
As people assert it to be;
There too is a happening life,
For a front bencher like me.

Right under their noses,
Bearing our teachers’ brunt;
And that too let me affirm,
Without a single grunt!

The duster when slammed,
My heart skips a beat;
But there is no heaven other than front bench,
To kill the season’s heat.

The chalk snows beautifully,
As if sitting in the Arctic;
Observance is at its best,
From the teacher’s toe to her lipstick.

The silent whispers of air
Make me feel great;
The door on my side,
Unintermittently throws its bait.

The mumble- fumble of the teachers,
Is all listened to;
We are the ones with that stuck smile,
To make general happiness brew.

Teacher’s pets, scholiast, whatever you call us,
The hustle-bustle on the front bench,
Is in itself an enjoyable fuss.

To construe the situation,
I love each bit of it;
I am the lucky one,
To bag the one and only Hot Seat.

Written as a Class Activity (Army School, Kirkee)