Photo by Adarsh Kummur on Unsplash

Yesterday, my teacher
became a tree
so I may learn
how to face the wind
with the fortitude of fractal grace.

Tomorrow, my teacher
says she shall be femininity
showing me how
my body can strain
the tides of attachment
into a pool of serenity.

Last week, my teacher
was a group of children
interrupted by wonder
in the middle of a game,
examining a compelling history
singing within a mound of dirt.

Every day, my teacher
is willing to undergo
the pain of metamorphosis
solely so that I should learn.
All she asks in return
is that I always recognise her face.

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Prem Chandavarkar

Prem Chandavarkar

Practicing architect in Bangalore, India. This blog contains general writing. For writing on architecture and urbanism, see https://premckar.wordpress.com