At first, it's a gentle, little tinkle,
The prancing wind chime, with the breeze does mingle.
One barely pays much heed,
One doesn't even realize there is, of intervention, a need.
Then the breeze does become strong,
A child is caught in the throng.
The wind chime does then madly jangle,
Often the rods and strings, in each other tangle.
But we, in our little cocoon of bliss,
So often, do the warning signs miss.
Then the danger bells begin to madly ring,
The voices in a child's head do begin to sing.
But we, as adults, barely hear a ping.
Then is heard the loud sound of a gong,
But life, we think, will surely move along.
The wind chime tinkles, then it jangles,
The bell furiously rings, the gong gravely does us warn,
But we, deaf, mute, blind, are of reason shorn.
The child is stuck in, of emotions, a roller coaster,
But such mixed feelings, we do not bother to foster.
Until, in the dead of the night,
When a full moon was shining bright,
The death knell has been rung.
In deep shame, we, the so called 'educators' have our heads hung.
Dedicated to all those students in India, whom we, in a bid to push them towards a brighter future, have ended up robbing them of any future they might have had...
