The docent's dream

Dennis Bogere

Beside the unmarked books he lay,
His red pen in his hand;
His thoughts about the next class whisked away
In a poignant, silent bound
Across the thick of his sable sleep
And there he saw his endeared school grounded.

Travelling through the labyrinth of his dreams,
The cherished school flourished like a cedar in Lebanon;
In its wide-brooked flourish, once more he steered
Though amidst a thousand-eyed hate for he was a paragon
At his docent-game, bestowed upon him by divine hands,
Whose magnificent work is undoubted.

He eyed himself once more in splendour,
Like the Heavenly lump outshining a myriad stars,
In front of a cheerful class
Greeting him with a whoosh of laughters-
But alas, still under the grip of the princess of sleep,
Rills of tears threaded his scraggy cheeks!

Like a big-winged phoenix, he rose to the helm of his game-
And every scholar approved him;
And upon their love-filled smiles, everywhere on the school campus,
He feasted joyfully to the brim-
Never thinking that these feasts would end
Into a dim, sour, teary dream!

Around him, like bees on velvet, nectar-filled rose,
Excited students often huddled;
From morning till evening, from Monday till Friday,
Around him, they tirelessly gathered
To drink from his envied spring of his wisdom
To have their thirst-patched brains sated.

Whilst savouring his dream, in the dead of the night,
He heard the horrifying owl's cry
And in its wide, round tear-filled eyes,
He espied the dark-robed misfortune in a poised pry
Into the school campus; the home of his peace,
While thunder whipped and with dark tears, it tore the sky!

The sleeper did not hear the chiming bell
Summoning him to the next lesson
Nor feel the patting hand of a female colleague
For this dream had stung him like poison
And smothered his incandescent candle of hope
Leaving him nothing to rejoice upon!