820. Sonnet to the Empty Class Room of English Department (BZU)

SONNET 820
By JH Sayyar
The desks lie still beneath the morning light,
No echo rings of laughter, voice, or tread.
The board waits, untouched by thought or write,
Its words now ghosts, like whispers of the dead.
No rustle stirs the books upon the shelf,
No turning page, no poem is read aloud.
Each vacant seat reflects a thoughtful self
Once sat dreaming, youthful, bold, and proud
The clock ticks on, a slow and mournful chime,
While windows gaze at skies so vast and blue.
Here silence teaches more than words or rhyme
A truth of passing days we always knew.

Yet though it's bare, this room still softly sings
Of minds once lit with Milton’s soaring wings.