The bell does not only call us in,
It opens doors beneath the skin.
A chalk-white road, a page, a chair,
A thousand futures waiting there.
We enter small, with curious eyes,
Carrying questions larger than skies.
Why do rivers bend and flow?
How do seeds decide to grow?
In crowded rooms, our thoughts take flight,
Some born in silence, some in light.
A teacher’s word, a friend’s reply,
Can build a bridge, can lift the sky.
The playground dust, the morning sun,
The race half-lost, the laughter won,
The books we feared, the dreams we drew,
All shape the self we never knew.
One day we leave these gates behind,
With sharper hearts and wider minds.
But somewhere deep, we still remain
Children walking after rain.
For school is not a building tall,
Nor marks written on a wall.
It is the place where wings begin,
Between the bell that calls us in.
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