Don Bosco hay

The scouts are marching and the red house is marching and the birds thirsty in
the summer trees
marching
the smiles are matching
hen's chicks roosters
through baskets in a small walkie lane
between the ghettos of borivali
mom polishes my brown shoe black
cherry blossom and the cobbler
on the street...the freedom fighter
in a torn cold tent charges 5 bucks
as I run to Ic Colony's bright black stone tar road
St francis on top of a hill
Sir raghu asks us not to cut cakes
He's the headmaster now
He walked faster than we the litter
through huts and ponds and onion garlic smells
dominic walked our clean floored building like a God
he came from the huts of Grant Road
Vitamin K for sunshine
and the school band goes
as we march. blue house changed my luck
Red was great. susu in the Bed
hid Tom Brown's School Days that I never read
and Alistair Mclean. Never read
just read heathcliff the cat comedy
and the reading room jokes. what makes the road broad
and silly jokes and songs of Ms Cynthia era. She was nice
as we marched and ran as punishment. Ms paul was a stunner
and moral science with bad thoughts for the days and punishment on
the yellow hay that went green when the rains came and frogs sang
peacock danced and odd story of a snake that was caught in the green tall grass
in July. we tried rugby and fought and punched and catch and cook and football
wild
the hay and on trees we perched. Santanu's prediction for Natalie was true
and guy talks and guy talks and guy talks about girls.