A chequered shirt, a freckled face
Yet a smooth overall appearance
Spectacles hanging from his neck
On a strand of thread
His hair black but mostly white
And off course, how could one miss
His ‘suspender pants’:P
The class all quite, all eyes on him
But are they interested, in awe or just scared of him
He modulates his voice,
Changes its texture,
Throws his hands around,
But do my friends really understand what he says,
Cause if they really did, why would they scared?
Sitting in the centre, of the circle we make around him
He says he doesn’t like people sitting at the back,
But if we someone’s at front, someone has to be behind,
And someone who’s been himself a backbencher all his life,
Should I really listen to him?
His suspender pants, just sum him up
It binds him,
So that he dosent go off the track
It controls him, so that he doesn’t lose count
It sizes him up, and off course they hold his pants in place
So that he can jump around in his thoughts.
I wonder how would he be, had it not been for them,
What a crazy person he would be!
