In the quiet bustle of morning bright, I stand before my eager, teary eyes, A canvas blank, a world in sight, With dreams to weave and hopes to rise, Each lesson crafted, a labor of love, Words like seeds in fertile ground. I nurture, like stars above, In every heart, a spark is found. Through trials faced, I stand my ground, For every tear, a smile will bloom, In laughter shared, my soul is bound, In this noble profession I chose, Here I am with open hands, I’d lay my life, my heart, my soul, For every child who dares to dream, To guide them gently toward their goal, To help them find their own bright beam. For I am a vessel with light to flow, For teaching is the path I chose to be.
Waking up with so many things on my mind is truly overwhelming. After saying a short prayer, I pick up my pen and start to write. I still use pen and paper by choice, not because I lack a laptop or a computer. I purposefully choose not to write directly on a screen because I want my mind and my hands to work together as a team. I want to create without consulting or involving any hybrid machines from the internet. Later on, of course, I will use my computer and Wi-Fi to share my finished writing on social media but the birth of my thoughts always happens on paper. Nostalgia Pain It remains clear in my memory why I chose to leave. I used to frequently compare our home to the loudest prison; A sanctuary, it seemed, for storms that brought heavy blows to my soul, For it was inherently a dungeon of words I desperately wished to escape. The news that no one enters this house anymore has not faded from my mind, Which is why I decided to return and dissect every room, pi...