The last benches of the class rooms,
know more no of love stories,
million times heard yet never boring,
the secret eyes gazing their secret loves,
a perfect place to sit and talk,
an industry of imaginations, fascinations and dreams,
a perfect friend's  shoulder to lean when the tears fall,
cool spot when the window breeze  caress' loneliness,
earphone and a bit of solitude a music lover's paradise,
broken hearts and unbreakable words all at same place,
scribbling pad for the new born poets,
engravings of timeless poem nothing but the lover's name,
a silent member in every group photo,
the only old fellow who understands youths,
a memory that can never be stolen from my heart!