Chalk

In the hushed classroom, a solitary stick,
Of white calcium, humble and quick,
It glides across the blackboard’s dark face,
Leaving trails of thought in fleeting grace.

The teacher’s hand, a steady guide,
Turns doubts to diagrams, fears to pride.
Each particle a tiny star,
That fell from cliffs of ancient quarry.

When lessons end and bells do chime,
The dust returns to silent time,
A ghost of numbers, verse, and song,
That lingers where the young belong.