I am Supposed to Be A Private Teacher

In the gentle light of morning, I rise,
Mother's red tea cup, my daily prize.
On an old-fashioned superhero bike, I ride,
Through life's struggles, I steadfastly abide.

From Kalita to Vaishya neighbour, I teach with care,
Guiding students through knowledge's glare.
To school I go, my duty ever clear,
A private school teacher, year after year.

Yet, I don't possess bank accounts of my own,
The language of GPF and CPF, to me, unknown.
Government budgets and tax calculations for March,
Eid, Bihu, Puja, I reach out to the school's starch.

Dreams of a stunning home through self-owned schemes,
Cruising in a lavish car, on a private loan's gleams;
Yet, I struggle to muster that sense of pride,
In my humble abode, where hardships reside.

Nestled among old files, my cottage awaits,
Degrees and certificates, a silent narrative states;
A graduate, a post-graduate, with teaching degrees to claim,
But still, a private school teacher, all the same.

Grandma's asthma meds, dad's diabetes care,
Funding brother's education, the burden I bear.
Adding extra hours to my tuition time,
Yet, in the shopkeeper's ledger, I remain mum, a dry lime.

Supposedly a private school teacher, yet the struggle persists,
Juggling responsibilities, amidst financial twists.
Even if I don't win in the salary competition's fight,
I've emerged victorious in the competition of success's light.

Every spring, I nurture bright luminaries,
On Teachers' Day, the gift proclaims, with sincerest pleas:
"I am also a teacher," I declare with pride,
In the noble profession where my heart abides.
    
      ✍️Written By Arifur Rahman & Rendered into English by Mottakinur Rehman