0411

Closed rooms, empty halls
No more music heard through these walls
Corridors owned by the silence
No more footsteps from noisy students
The white walls are cold
Classes the rooms no longer hold
The brick walls are hushed
No more tales to spill with each touch
I still see people playing
Their voices, in my ears, still ringing
But the images are vague, the sound faint
A nostalgic rush brought about by a trip down memory lane


--had the urge to write this down when I visited Pisay last April 11.ü--