From the lecture hall

Why aren't we allowed to make choices
Why can't we make decisions
Why most one be somewhere
not for pleasure or leisure
But to be assumed as present
For a course not well understood
Except that you will be tested
On what you're assumed to have learnt
Even though it might just be a transfer
Of words to brain and brain to paper
and it's called writing a test
It's driving me crazy and it should stop
Lest I begin to bend the rules
Afterall, they are meant to be bent
By not you, not me, but someone
Who doesn't see reason for the obsession
to be in class and sit in front
Pretending to concentrate even while not
He goes on and on and stops
a few minutes after he ought to have gone
He dictates his note
that barely makes sense
Makes waste of paper a norm
every Mon and Tue
Believes he's imparting knowledge
to who I wonder, probably the seats
Has a Master's he can't defend
or probably mine he came to lend
Thity-five minutes gone
Thirty-five more to go
Of more boredom and annoyance
Must be deceived that he has a skill or gift, I'ld say a curse
Of pretending to teach when he's not
Takes a break to explain
Or sorry, to repeat
what made no sense before
like repetition helps to build snese
Even a scrap car is made of scrap
My point, you know is simple
Sense is made of sense
Repeating nonsense gives repeated nonsense
Must feel he works for his pay
Not knowing he's a beneficiary of a charity
Or what would you call pay
for merely showing up in a classroom for the required duration
and holding a marker, writing on the board
Raising his voice so everyone knows he's around
And making it sound like he knows all
It would be too harsh to say he doesn't make sense
Afterall he probably makes sense to his little world
Consisting of his mouth and his ears
A congregation of three - big enough
to give approval to what he says
His personality- oh no
a far cry from what is called normal
Could be a special breed of humans; a mutation of genes maybe
Having resigned to his fate as a teacher
that teaches nothing and learns nothing
gets fascinated by everything strange
to his little world of three inhabitants
would probably still be here in ten years
Teaching a couple of desks and chairs
With a less than fortunate audience
Watching his mouth move and waiting
keenly for the clock hands to move

Thought I'd finished, but I haven't
Event still unfold in Economics class
I have just realised how interesting
it is to have some form of power
He particularly enjoys
displaying the extent of his power
though it's not beyond the walls of a classroom
Such limits, I'ld say are sad
I mean for all the shouting and squealing
the walls are still the limit
for him not me in case you're mistaken
He illustrates by
bolting the door so no one leaves
He has to enjoy these two hours you know
Power for two hours is better than none at all
By the way, he has no manners
Cannot afford a 'sorry' when needed
Thinks he can captivate audience by cajoling and claiming to have prayed 'some prayers' for us
Spends about twenty minutes telling us off
and wishing he were not our lecturer
Preaching, teaching and screaming cooperation
like that means looking straight into his eyes
Pretends not to be complexed
Gets worked up when we ignore him
Feels like both a Christian and moralist
like a principled branch of a tree