Monday, February 13, 2017

A class beneath the clouds - To Mr. Santiago

"This way, everybody! Follow me.
And just carry a pencil and notebook along”
spoke the tall gentleman with a partly visible smile
beneath a frowning zodiac mustache.
Leading them to the open playground beneath the cottony sky;
In a group, and not in a long winding line.
He left the kids wondering if that period was for PT or Geography.


“Look up, now. Take out the pencil
and sketch what you see up there in your book”
Echoed his voice. Someone sketched a toupee. Another, sheets of linen.
While one drew a wincing whale, the other a drowsy dragon;
While the curious started that very instant.
The sceptics and the conformists followed suit
watching others, they herded, after a few squandered minutes.


“Now, one by one show me your sketches.
Let’s unmask those creations and creatures”
he said. Thus, began the lesson on different forms of clouds.
From cirrus, cumulus and stratus; and their combinations
like cirrostratus, stratocumulus and nimbus, they were totally ten.
The class was now on cloud number nine, to be precise, cumulonimbus
as they all knew every cloud by their name.


“We’ll meet again tomorrow, same time; At the park near the Chapel.
Come empty handed. And be prepared to get those hands soiled”
he said and dismissed the class. Since then to this very day;
Perhaps, those kids dwelling within still look up, to find the cirrus
disguised as a toupee, or stratus as linen sheets. Fondly remembering the days
when lessons were taught within walls, across desks and amid chalk dust;
There was one who shared his classroom with a wide blue ceiling and horizon bound floor.

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