If wisdom had a smell It would smell of old books Passed down from generation to generation Revealing the truths about the enigma called time. The truths which cannot be purchased Even by the highest bidder. That smell that unveils the arduous work of writers Known and unknown. That smell that reveals family trees of readers Seen and unseen. That smell that conquers ignorance Once knowledge is sought. If wisdom had a smell It would smell like an old, well-read copy of Uncle Tom's Cabin Revealing the evil behind the thoughts and actions of slavery. That smell that encompasses sacrifice. That smell that brings words and characters to life. That smell that raises positive movements that will In time, save humankind. If wisdom had a smell It would smell of old wrappers Worn by mothers and even fathers, Instinctively used to wipe the tears Of their children away, Used with love to cover them from the rain or sun. Oh, the smell of that long piece of fabric With drawings of horses, stars,...
THE ENGLISH MAN At first, I perceived him as my enemy, as did my colleague. When you regarded him with a greeting he responded with silence or a frown, not once, not twice. He had these knocked knees that he threw around like his pride when he walked out or into the ENGLISH lab that accommodated unfriendly dust. I pictured his face one day as the image of the un-wiped whiteboard occupying space in the lab. The board had many inscriptions on it that were quite ugly; like drawings of an amateur. It just hung there, representing a deceitful notion of facility needed. He would resume very early every weekday. His black shadow (computer bag) would sit on his desk signifying his presence when he left to teach a class. This black shadow suited a computer engineer or a lawyer, but certainly not an English teacher. I remember once picturing him in a suit and a tie, or a range rover sport. I had to perish the thought though because I wouldn’t know if he’d ever smile even in suc...