The Teachers Last Lesson

The Teacher’s Last Lesson


He loaded his pistols all shiny and new,
And walked across campus with something to do
Here I stand at the door in his way
A simple professor, here is my place.
No lectures today, just this one task:
Don’t let him in, don’t let him pass.

Bullet one. It shatters the wood,
It’s lodged in my stomach
It grips hard and cold
My body rejects, cries out and screams
“Bullet, bullet don’t stay inside of me!”
“You’re tearing the muscles, ripping them in two!”
Bullets aren’t meant for the body.

They told us he’s coming, cell phones rang
Screaming, “He’s coming! This odd deranged man!”
“He’s coming! He’s killing all in his way!
Sending too many students to heaven today!
He’s breaking in classrooms,
He’s coming!”
Why does he wish to hurt us and send us away?

Bullet two. My sweaty palms slip. Yet still hold the door tight in my grip.
My beloved students, they break the windows,
all screaming I yell:
“Get out and away! Away from this hell!”

Bullet 3. He’s banging and screaming, he wants inside.
I’m old and I’m grey, survived Nazis but today is my day.
My blood it pours down, down this grayish blue suit
I once wore such suit; a yellow-star brightened the drab,
When those men came and took all that I had.
They took my ima, they dragged her away
I won’t let him have them.
Here at the door I stay.

Bullet four.  How many more?
My insides have fallen out on the floor
I don’t think I can give any more
Students are crashing and running, running.
Air fills the room their freedom, make haste!
My lungs are burning, this gas chamber I taste.
One, two, three, four, all are almost out
Still a few more, Jehovah, please I must hold the door,
Just a few seconds more.

I’m the only one, the rest have left
Here he is, it’s time for me
I’m Professor Librescu’s last student you see
One last bullet. It hit his head,
Dear Professor Liviu Librescu is dead.