Poem : Chalk

Have you ever wondered,
How a piece of chalk dies a slow death.
While the person unknowingly breaks its head,
some pieces of its soul fall down,
On ground.
Others they live in the form of words.
Some play with each other in the cursive written words,
And some others are just segregated in the form of letters.

Playing and shining on the board,
happily they live their present.
Well they very well know,
That a brush of 10*4*4 cm^3 will soon
Polish the huge area and they will meet an end…

And the board,
it is left with some white scars and spots,
Of the deads.
While it tries to get back to the state where it was,
Or mourn for the deads,
Which once sticked to its surface.
It mourns and cries, Like a mother
Which has just lost her newborn child.

We never realise,
putting or throwing the duster,
In the corner, pick up another
To loop it over again…