Childhood In The Boarding School..

I was not born as a child to enjoy childhood, When I was in the residential school boarded, Woken up at five to have the dip in the pond, After the couple of exercises half awoke and slept. Morning mass either in the church or the chapel, Seven thirty cold breakfasts guarded by the sisters, Eight O clock study until the school bell rang, Rushed to the hall of freedom until the next meal. After lunch, sleepy afternoon would end at five, Five to six teas and then to be caged in the libraries, Seven thirty dinner, eight to eight thirty recreation, Eight thirty to nine prayers, added with stories of saints. Nine to five at bed thinking of childhood during the holidays, Nine to five silences, when my thoughts spread the wings, Sometimes recollecting the lessons of life and the parents, The pillow was always wet and got dried with my hot breath. The physical diary of the life of every boarder, Neither glamorous nor dangerous, but safe, Too monotonous apart from the occasional, Dorm squabble and the loss of carefree childhood.