The agonising silence we hold

The quiet yet significant

clicks from the clock,

Our eyes fixated upon it,

Desperately calculating,

Waiting, stalling, hoping.

Such awkward desperation

Fills the room,

That not even

the most respectful of students

can help but steal a glance

towards the clock.

Waiting, stalling, hoping.

The room is quiet,

With the exception of the scribble

Of aimless writing,

And faked work being completed.

The students drive their pens

In circles,

Waiting, stalling, hoping.

A stomach rumble is heard,

Attempted to be concealed by

The tense shuffling of a school bag,

Like the yawn attempted to be silenced

By the hand drawn over mouth,

Waiting, stalling, hoping.

The students sit breathlessly,

And the teacher breathes a sigh of relief,

As the clock,

Which is under immense attention,

Strikes, “12:30”,

In harmony with the bell.

Lunch time.

After the moment

that lasted forever.