The boy was scared
of algebra.
He wondered whether
The solitude of prison might be easier than the ordeal of algebra.
He soon realised
algebra was fundamental to the operations of the lock-up too.
X came,
For Y number of times per week
To rain Z number of blows
on the boy,
The variables here being X, Y and Z. There was no escaping the pain
of algebra.
There was nothing abstract
about algebra.
It was basic.
It was familiar.
It ran deep.
And it was only
A trigger away.
Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at [email protected].
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