The doors never opened again.
A rising yellow slithered through an umbrella of varied leaves
Laying itself across the field, the breeze breathed silence.
The parakeets flew in settling one by one and
A lone kite perched high sat with its face turned.

There was a time when the children would hurry in
At the ringing of the bell behind the ornamental railing,
All white, not dull not the kind the dead are covered with
But a white that shines of past glory with a gentle swell in the middle,
Bars spaced evenly apart.

The bricks removed now from the boundary wall
Making way for an alternate path,
Windows opaque with dust and shadowed by Kadamba vriksha
Waited in search of voices lost.
The Sunrise English High School had hoped to grow into a level higher.

In the corner the Cassia fistula continued to shower
All afternoons with pendulous inflorescence of its golden amber.