As we were kids, reckless and free,

We met a clan called teachers,

We were stunned as we looked at them,

We mistook them for preachers.

They held our hands when god wrote our Destiny,

They guided our paths away from blasphemy,

They called us their owns without hesitation,

And they walked with us in the adverse situations,

As we were pots of mud and water,

They crafted us as sons and as daughters,

They became the water when our knowledge ran dry,

They lent us wings to help us fly,

They held the sword to craft our characters,

They became supports to hold our structure,

For us saplings, that the world discarded,

They became gardeners and didn’t leave us unguarded.

This is for those who didn’t ask for returns,

Those who protected us from the futuristic burns,

This for those who evolved us as creatures,

As we bow down before our beloved Teachers. 


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