Mr. Lochan and his suspender pants

A chequered shirt, a freckled face

Yet a smooth overall appearance

Spectacles hanging from his neck

On a strand of thread

His hair black but mostly white

And off course, how could one miss

His ‘suspender pants’:P

The class all quite, all eyes on him

But are they interested, in awe or just scared of him

He modulates his voice,

Changes its texture,

Throws his hands around,

But do my friends really understand what he says,

Cause if they really did, why would they scared?

Sitting in the centre, of the circle we make around him

He says he doesn’t like people sitting at the back,

But if we someone’s at front, someone has to be behind,

And someone who’s been himself a backbencher all his life,

Should I really listen to him?

His suspender pants, just sum him up

It binds him,

So that he dosent go off the track

It controls him, so that he doesn’t lose count

It sizes him up, and off course they hold his pants in place

So that he can jump around in his thoughts.

I wonder how would he be, had it not been for them,

What a crazy person he would be!