Classic Poem

He was sixty years old
And still teaching.
One day he came into class and said:
" Parse this sentence: The teacher came. "
We thought he was joking,
So we laughed and answered:
Came , an active verb,
The teacher ...!!? "
Suddenly we understood ... in a second
So we were silent ...
We heard him muttering:
" Came , an active verb,
The teacher ...! "
The teacher did not come!
The police brought him
And he will teach.

Our classes grew up together until
Our teacher neared seventy but was still teaching.
For instance, the teacher said:
My teacher dreams of the revolution, but does not fight —
A sentence complete a thousand times over,
And he who parses it becomes a fighter.
So we were silent,
We said nothing
But our silence was the struggle,
Our silence was ...
But there was a boy in class who had fed the earth with his hands,
Its olives nourished his lips.
" Adnan " was his name ... a peasant without land.
He fought not with silence,
He fought with everything within him.
That day I watched the teacher juggle the rules of grammar;
He taught:
" My teacher is not a subject
Dreams is not an active verb
Of is governed by a preposition
The Revolution does not take a preposition
But
Does not fight is the truth "

The next day the teacher entered the classroom
He was happy and mysterious like the scent of oranges.
A child at seventy, he greeted us and said:
They put Adnan in prison.
" Parse it, you young girls,
Parse it, you young men! "
We were happy ... we wept and exclaimed:
" Adnan is a subject
Prison is an object " ...
And we burned the rules of syntax,
We burned the chains of grammar
And converted to the struggle.