Those playgrounds are not of mud
But created out of our footprints
Those benches are not painted
But wet with our hard-work
Dreams echoes in those halls
Our creativity hangs on the walls
The gardener still remembers our mischief
We both could not answer the 3rd question of maths paper
Those corridors still rings up with our laughter
Bell starts our race to ground
And teachers yelling at us
Peon shouting at us
Hosting a crowd of 2000 parents
I forgot my lines
I still recollect
During practice
You laughing on those lines of the script
"Our teachers watch us everywhere"
Finals of football
And I shot the last goal
Against you
All memories flied away with that paper
When you told he is no more
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