I compare you to an Arabian steed,
Trying, always, to be in the lead
Your eyes are patched, preventing peripheral sight,
You gallop ahead, challenging the speed of light.
You gallop ahead for that’s all you’ve been taught,
Ever since the day you began your trot.
A bridle has been strapped upon your face,
To curb your movement and your pace
You sense a whip in your rider’s hand,
Egging you on towards the victory stand
Winning this race is your only aim,
It is your life’s ultimate game.
At last you win and your heart rejoices,
Surrounding you are complimenting voices.
You are glad it’s over, you feel complacent,
You rest, hoping tomorrow will be pleasant.
But next day you are brought into the field, once again,
Before you even recovered from yesterday’s strain
A new bridle, a new rider, and the same old whip,
The reins have you under their sinister grip.
The whip cracks and you gallop ahead once more,
Though this race doesn’t seem worth running for
But you are stripped of a choice and there is only one way,
To race ahead, and to do the same on every single day
A new bridle, a new rider, a new race in which to fight,
A new syllabus, a new teacher, a new exam to write