POETRY IN ONE FLEETING MOMENT (The Making of At Its Best)

Mr. Alerge enters the room, eyeing each delightful faces of his fourth year English major students at Room 104. He positions himself in his most usual spot where he can keenly see each faces elevated with such ecstatic elation.

Today, the sun’s brightly illuminated the room with fine intensity. You could hear the cracked up laughter of everybody, stirred with excitement murmuring in different high voices wearing a triumphant smiles. Everyone is seated comfortably on their seats while Mr. Alegre remarks,

“Today, we will write Poetry!” 

he says with full power of enthusiasm and begins to ask his students to look up at the ceiling and tell something about it in fine details, the flaws and nice parts of it even how it has been constructed and designed. Anything they see as they gaze upon it. Some speaks about the lights and how it radiates the room and later shadow comes in. Also, the shape of the ceiling has been mentioned by some even its edges, cobwebs and nylons that hangs along the red long pipes of the room.

Everyone becomes more active, ballistic and participative. Each contributes and shares his and her train of thoughts. After the board is filled with innumerable counts of objects that can be seen from the ceiling, Mr. Alegre begins the poem.

                                      

“Strings of Memories haunt this mane.” he writes while gathering his thoughts. Soon enough, one after another, grabs the pen and starts to write their contribution of lines. Spirits are elevated within the four walls of the room with such pleasure and purity to create and be one of the poem making. Each visage is illuminated with greatest fain expression, even the ambiance of the air in the near expectation.