My English Lecture

I sit here in my class room
And see the proff delivering a lecture
On Bernard Shaw.
I look around at my class mates
Boring disinterested faces greet me.
Some reading novels
Some fiddling with their cell phones
Still others, making a brave effort
Not to doze off.
And me..?
I am trying to scribble something
To distract my attention
From the seductive call of sleep

A bus honks by rudely
I disinterestedly look outside the window
My gaze is held.
I stop, and stare.
Outside the premises,
Is a bustee
I see a poor boy
Peering attentively at something
He is six years old, maybe seven.
I crane my neck to intrude into his privacy
What I see, sends a chill down my spine
He is holding a paper,
And the refill of a pen -
Probably thrown out by one of us
And he is trying to write something!

I look back towards my class.
I see my designer clothes
I see my Woodland shoes
I see my air conditioned class room
And my expensive leather bag.
I see my brand new texts and copies
And for the first time,
I feel a pang of guilt in my heart!!