In a city of fast walkers 

and baggy-eyed sleepers, 

the clock strikes twelve. 

We are broken. 

Heaps of eraser dust gather, 

splintered 2B lead lies in silence,  

while ink-smudged fingers drag across 

clammy faces. 

Test and grades chase each other in  

endless circles 

as though life were a race, 

towards a horizon that forever pulls away. 

It never truly ends. 

Until the hourglass bids Memento mori. 

We measure success in decimals, 

boasting perfect As, 

climbing a corroding ladder, 

stepping on others in a desperate bid 

to survive a grind without an end. 

We forget that life 

does not grade us on how 

fast we burn. 

The sprint to success lies 

in the breath we take between  

each stride. 

What if the truest lesson lies in  

the pause? 

To notice golden rays of soft sunlight  

dishing out warm paint onto our walls, 

to smell the gentle wafts of another meal  

brewing in the kitchen. 

To be surrounded by 

mynahs and pigeons, 

to gaze upon their innocent faces, 

to let their rhythmic chirps and trills fill the air. 

To listen to our heartbeat, 

without fearing we’re falling behind? 

We lug past regrets 

in stuffed bags, suffocating it between 

the pages of textbooks, 

dragging the present 

to who knows where? 

We fear the future 

where whispers of our broken souls rebound, 

and silent cries remind us our best  

is never enough. 

But time is not the enemy, it is  

a mirror, 

calling us to reflect, 

to observe, to imagine 

So let us dare 

to step off the abusive treadmill, 

to protect our fragility, 

to grade ourselves not in numbers, 

but in kindness, 

curiosity, 

reflection, 

quiet mindfulness. 

And in the story of our lives 

may we not be torn-up headlines, 

plastered together from what  

remains of us. 

May we learn 

to step back, 

to mend, 

to breathe, 

to piece back the fragments of our broken selves, to be finally 

whole again.