This is the week.
When most homes in the green pearl empty of children
When the joyful songs and chants of children in the village fade
As we send them all off to boarding school
This is the time
Taxis fill up to the brim with little souls and thin mattresses
Carried off far and away from loving home and friends
Parents breaking little hearts time and again
Sending them to stranger parents in boarding school
This is the month.
When mothers and fathers return to silent houses
Echoing with the sound of long gone voices
of the children who have gone off to boarding school
These are the beds.
Now empty of little bodies
Gone to gain an allegedly better education
and to start to lose their ground and rootings
As they go to boarding schools
