As I stepped through those gates, 

Memories flooded my mind. 

 

I waded my way through them, 

And reached my destination, the room. 

 

The classroom, empty though, 

Echoed the laughter and cries. 

 

The wooden benches remained intact, 

With the scribblings haunting my mind. 

 

I walked past the rows, 

With my palms caressing the desks. 

 

My hand stopped at one, 

Where my name was etched with compass. 

 

The bench and desk, still bore, 

The freshness of our camaraderie

 

The aroma of the food we shared, 

Oh! Seems like the day before. 

 

These wooden pieces, 

Spoke our tales of love and war. 

 

Weren’t they the mute spectators, 

To the buds that blossomed over them? 

 

A drop of tear that fell from my eyes, 

Glistened like a dew on the memory planks. 

Photo by Ben White on Unsplash