She raised a finger
Excuse me, teacher!       

If the holy cow slips
tin roofs falling over
under lots of iron beams would we always die?

the teacher        a tremor slipping down his face
pulled the pocket bottoms off his hands
and heavens           fell down on the Nth class

crushed benches
lessons fallen from children’s hands
and the walls      what dreams they harboured for the inhabitants
except for  a hand that appeared in  the rubble
with the call  of a rising finger!

Excuse me, Sir!
May I get up?