LIVING STONES

Amidst the streetlamps,

Glowing silently,
The desolate stones of the old schoolhouse sleep.
The night passes,
The sun slowly rises,
Bringing faint colour to the horizon.

Dawn breaks,
Birds sing their morning tunes.
Roads a blur of cars,
Tootings and growlings rise up
From the tarmac.
Vehicles halt,
Dishevelled boys shuffle out onto the pavement.
Streams of them meet,
Slowly trickling down the path and into the building.
Cars leave,
Their work is done.
Suddenly,
All is quiet.

Doors are yanked open,
Children stream out in batches.
Disgorged from the building and
Driven by the thought of nourishment,
They run down the pavement.
Transport stops, waiting for
Conversations flooding across black-and-white stripes.
The schoolhouse
Relaxes, noise taken off
Its shoulders.

The streams now flood back,
Back through the winding path,
Back into the old schoolhouse,
Back to the lights, lessons, chatter.
The mighty wooden door swings shut,
And peace is returned.

Now the cars come back,
Pouring in again,
Doors open,
Dishevelled parents
Clamber out and
Jog down the winding path to
Retrieve their children.
Have you got your homework?s
And Hows the day beens
Now flooded across black-and-white stripes.
The last parents leave,
The classrooms now barren.

A hubbub of discussion
Rises from the schoolhouse.
From the teachers,
Regarding reports...
And About this topic...
Resounded through
Half-empty cups of coffee.

But finally,
When the last teacher
Turns out the lights
And drives off,
The school is empty.
The birds return to their nests,
The stonework heaves a sigh of relief.
The sun slowly sets,
The moon rises, and
Everything is still.

Euan Ong J4A