Tags
They scribble away furiously, their concentrated faces seemingly wise
Their penmanship as distinct as their persons, their demeanors as unique as their thumbprints
Some contort their faces into unsightly things, some mumble jumbled thoughts to themselves
Some gaze with glazed eyes through ceiling like they could see the skies
Some stare in surprised amusement at the sheets before them, smirks dancing carelessly at the corners of their lips
I recall the previous semester, when I graded exam papers of the discipline I tutored
Some fixed on my face a smile like a clown’s, others shredded my heart to pieces like no man ever has done
I read things I hadn’t taught them, I read things largely unrelated
I read things they’d definitely conjured, I read things that made not the slightest sense
So as I watch them furiously scribble away, trying to recall things in their own peculiar ways
I wonder if they’re writing any ‘sense’ at all.
An hour gone, an hour to go
A lady turns in her script, a gentleman turns over his sheet
One lady appears to want to tear her face off, one gentleman seems to find his answers in mine
Students fill up their booklets, others ask for more papers
And I hope to God, harder than I’ve ever hoped before, that they’re writing sensible things after all