I pass by brick buildings,

next to fields.

Where daisies grow,

for schoolboys.

They bring home notes,

letters and words.

Lead shards

smudged on shirts.

The scent of old paper was my favorite.

Chairs marked lines

Arms rested on tables

Wooden shelves,

where schoolbooks lived.

I had tables and chairs too,

for eating,

not learning.

Books,

To show me the right steps for

soup and bread.

My father says we are filled

With unique fortune.

Motherhood,

Paves our path.

But I say my heart beats hollow,

Trapped.

Under this roof,

Is the only horizon I have.

“Your mind is no thinker,

hands not fit for a writer.”

But even behind these calluses,

Aren’t my hands the same?

Come save me,

my knight in shining armor.

Save me from endless hours.

Give me wings,

Fly me off to their land.

And plummet into its sea

Of shining stories.

Let world blink its eyes,

turn it around.

To where the morning bell

rings for my ears too.

I pass by brick buildings,

next to fields.

Dreaming that one day,

daisies will grow,

for schoolboys,

and

school girls.