— Kalyan Kumar Dutta
VKV Kharsang.
School—a word so soft, so sweet,
Where hearts and young minds always meet.
Six letters stitched in joy and pain,
Of sunshine, laughter, tears and rain.
The bell that rings, the chalky board,
The giggles that the walls record.
So many memories safely stored,
In every class, our spirits soared.
From morning prayer to final bell,
We dreamed, we rose, we tripped, we fell.
A thousand slip-ups, brave or shy,
Each held a tale we won’t deny.
We learned to stand, we learned to try,
To chase our hopes and touch the sky.
We passed quick notes with hearts so fast,
Believing those sweet days would last.
In halls and noisy canteen lines,
We found our friends, our secret signs.
In every cheer and every fear,
We found a will to persevere.
With teachers kind or sometimes stern,
Who lit the way and helped us learn.
No blame, no shame—just lessons deep,
Their words within us still do sleep.
