Like That Only

Within the Bounds of These Walls

AM

Within the bounds of these walls around
The days they clock with the bugles sound
And before the first light has shone
The ‘wake up’ call on the bugle has blown
Brooms in hand of the brigade’s half asleep
Clearing the territory of dust and leaves
The art of trigonometry in making of beds
Pristine white sheet over the quilt’s sharp edge
Then out on the roads to trot right and left
Counting out lungs with no time to rest
And it ends with the hundred meter race
Heart pounds apace, sweat pours down the face
In blue uniform and red beret on head
Cadets assemble for the pre-noon parade
One, two, three… left leg out & arms swing free
Schloop schloop of boots raised high as the knee
With sweat drenched shirt and sun scorched skin
With mud covered boots, we run to canteen

PM

Slump and flump ahead in noon’s march past
To last bench by the window in the class
Though forbidden, heads do wobble in sleep
Eyes droop down & suddenly the hand slips
Thought we wrote but the paper’s without ink
A pinch to ourselves to realize we’re dreaming
Then out in green shirts and clean white shorts
Jumping and thumping for PT and sports
Early for dinner & dressed for the roll call
In attention with the bugle, as the flag falls
Tired but with zest, we sing the evening anthem
An end of the day be next day’s memorandum
Tired like dog but isn’t yet time for sleep
Boots to be blackened, dresses pressed neat
Then for the last, the bugle calls again
All men in bed as the clock strikes ten
Lights out. good night. sleep tight.
Don’t let the bedbugs bite!

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Image by stokpic from Pixabay

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