Best school shayri in hindi Stories

Suggested Stories

Discover & Read Best Stories about school shayri in hindi. Also Read about .

  • Latest Stories
phle to m school se bhag aati thi darti jo thi 
bad m ghr walo n bhej diya ek dur school m
jha se m akle aa-ja na skti thi
bus wale bhaishab se hi to the jo mujhe smbhalte the
mujhe khtti -mithi tofiya jo dete the
dheere dheere to school se bhi nata bnne lga
sab mujse apna ghar sa lgne lga
ab to ghar pr bhi bs school ki hi bate hote thi
or dekhte hi dekhte n jane kb m school ki fav bcchi jo bn gyi thi
teacher se jitni dant pdti thi usse khi jyda dosto ki jhppi milti thi
dost bhi ase the ki jigri yar to bolte the 
lkin exam hall m us yar ko bhi bhul jate the to hota hi tha
asl m  in sab ki ahmiyat jab smajh aayi
jab school k aakhiri din farwell party di gyi
yhi to pitara tha khusiyo ka
school k din

school k woh din...yado se bhare #School #schoolbus #dost #teacher #msti #bidai

22 Love
0 Comment
Jab roj school m aate hai to gussa bda aata hai
Lekin school se jane k baad school, yaad bda aata hai

Dher sara homework or teachers ki punishment 
Dosto sang masti ka maja aisa
Jaise function ke end mein refreshment

Jab chhote the hum to rote-rote school aaya krte the
Har dusre teesre din chhuti ka koi bhana bnaya krte the

Fir dosto sang Dosti bdhne lgi
Sharartein or masti bhi bdhne lgi
Acha lgne lga tha dosto sang rhna
Or fir Sunday ki chhuti bhi boring lgne lgi 

Teachers ke class m na aane tk bda shor mchate the
Agar 2 dost na aaye to sb milkr chhuti kr jate the

Bde ho jate h jb to smjhdari aati hai
Lekin hum mein to nadaniya bdhne lgi thi
Fir bewjh jhagarna or rooth jana
Dosto m dooriya bdhne lgi thi

'All for one, One for All' sb bhulane lge the
Ab sbki apni personal life ho gyi thi 

School pura ho gya sb alag-alag ho gye
Ab kya pta kisi ko koi yaad bhi aata hai
School se jane k baad ye Kambakht School bda yaad aata hai
"ye school bda yaad aata hai"

    ~Pj 💗  #NojotoQuote

#School #friends #friendsforever #bestfriend #Quotes #Nojoto #nojotohindi #Poetry #PJ #ink #pen #missyou #Schoollife

22 Love
0 Comment
1 Share
SCHOOL: A word for the students who are still in it but an emotion who are passed out!
SCHOOL: It's a place where we cry when we enter for the first time & leave it for the last time.
SCHOOL: Infamous because we're kept in rules but famous for the memories of breaking those rules!
SCHOOL: A playground of memories and the souls of those memories still wandering those corridors where we spent most of our recess time.
SCHOOL: A place where we learn to live together with the strangers who turned out to be the greatest gift of life.
SCHOOL: A place from where you want to go out as soon as possible but once out you craved to be in it again. 
SCHOOL: A lifeless building but still soulful with our memories.
I Miss My SCHOOL!😢

#Nojoto #naporimo #School

5 Love
0 Comment

Every morning as I walk to school through the dark blue decrepit world, I feel like I’m coming down with the flu. By the time I reach the school, my entire body is depleted as if I have spent the night in chills, reabsorbing the damp excreting from my own pores. I am always excreting something. My ex-boyfriend noticed it. He would ask why I was always cold and sweating, why I was always at war with myself. When he licked the excretions off my body, I would ask myself, Is this a life? He used to say dirty things to me like, Desubjectify me, bitch. The way he fucked was senseless and crazy. I don’t get fucked like that anymore. As a teacher I am not getting fucked and the children can tell. Some of the children are teenagers and menstruating and ejaculating. They have no control over their excretions and, in that way, perhaps we’re all alike. Sometimes they talk to me as if I’m a nun. No, little children, I’m not a nun. I never was. There are people where I am standing, outside the school’s entrance. I am waiting to open the door. I encounter someone’s father. He has a cord of wood strapped to his back. How are you, Maya’s teacher? No, how are you? Then a different father holds the door open for me. Go on in, he says. I have always hated people’s families and fathers. The school is inside what used to be an American legion hall. It’s an open space the size of a gymnasium with hundreds of chairs organised in circles and two offices and practice rooms and closets. Some of the children are huddled in clumps on the floor like mounds of peanut shells. The peanut shells are listening to the Notorious B.I.G. I touch the handle of the teachers’ bathroom. There is one adult bathroom for thirty adults. The sweat on my skin dries and leaves a thin film. The door is locked. A phone is ringing somewhere. I wait patiently. I am filled with
#peace as I imagine my day’s reasonable activities. When the door opens, the principal steps out. She makes eye contact with me then her eyes shift quickly away as if there is a car accident in the middle of my face. I go into the bathroom. A pimple must be bleeding. I tried to lance it off this morning. It gives me character; I like to look rough. I don’t like the principal. Almost everyone else is summoned to her office every day. They are having secret meetings without me. Poor Lenore, they say behind my back. She can’t do anything right. That Lenore, what a crazy mess, Lenore is a shit teacher. I have been inside the principal’s office only once. Her office is covered in a wallpaper patterned with drawings of diverse parents and children, all of them holding hands, each body linked to another body in a multiplication of bodies that goes from the ceiling to the floor, designed to stimulate a feeling of hope and community and tolerance. The principal and her assistant, obviously a lesbian couple, discuss Marxist teaching strategies. This is months ago. The wallpaper repulses and overwhelms. They ask me what I see myself doing here. To be honest, I say, I’m not sure I see myself here at all. We think you’d be a perfect fit, the principal says. I notice that the principal has long fingernails, overgrown and ridged with a recent sickness. The index finger on each hand is trimmed neatly, most likely for finger fucking. A few days later they call and call and leave messages on my answering machine. We want to hire you, one of them says desperately, will you call us back? Lenore, we’d love to have you on the team. Are you going to call us? Well, are you? I never call them back. At the time I’m too busy getting fucked. I’m sort of miserable. Then my boyfriend leaves me for another woman. I see the woman in town, she looks like a secretary or a nun, she’s boring, I am bored with myself. What disgusting humans everywhere! I develop a rash all over my body. My hair starts to fall out in long, lovely brown streaks. I find the streaks on my pillow when I wake up in the morning. A month after the principal and her assistant call me, I show up at the school. Another body is just what we need right now, the principal says sincerely. Lenore, says the assistant, we think it’s wonderful you’ve decided to come! I leave the bathroom and begin to teach children of various ages and abilities and it’s all pretty neutral. I wear a blue handkerchief wrapped around my head. When I teach I sweat. The children ask me if I’m uncomfortable. Some of them are wearing winter coats and gloves and hats. I read somewhere that in order to find tranquillity, you have to go outside of yourself. Your head has to feel like a balloon attached to a neck. And it doesn’t have to be your neck, it can be anyone’s. It just has to be a neck. A different book says that in order to find tranquillity you have to go further inside yourself. So which is it? Inside or outside? When I get up in front of the children and teach, I imagine a painting of a green field with gentle hills and trees and clouds and a river that curves slowly around a bend. There’s an old woman in the middle of the field wearing a red shawl, playing a fugue on her fiddle. That’s my tranquillity. In the afternoon a coworker asks how things are going, I tell him that teaching is going very well for me. I will not last long. The children are restless; I get hit in the head with a basketball. The ball smacks the back of my handkerchief, bounces to the floor, and rolls into a corner with spiders. When I was little my parents abandoned me for a weekend. They went somewhere and had fun. I tell the children I’m an orphan. They throw chairs at one another. It’s because the chairs are plastic and weigh like three pounds. The bell rings. It’s the end of the day. I have accomplished nothing. I’m bending over to pick up milk cartons. It feels good to bend over; it reminds me of getting fucked. My handkerchief falls off. It’s soaked with sweat. The leftover milk makes me feel bad so I drink it. Someone sees me without my handkerchief. Poor Lenore. Poor Lenore with no hair. The person tells me the day is over and I should go home. I don’t know what to say to that. I put on my coat. I’m standing outside the school. A man I’ve never seen before locks the front door. There are always new bodies appearing everywhere. When I was little, when my parents left me alone for a weekend, I occupied myself. I was pure then but not peaceful. I was a bird flying over a waterfall in a forest. I was an insect with three hundred legs and monstrous antennae. I was the time on the clock when children are called home for dinner. That’s what I was then. And there was nothing nice about the apartment I grew up in. The only good thing about it was the inner courtyard where people could grow plants and sit outside in peace. One morning I saw a man and a woman having sex quietly on a chaise lounge. There was a new atmosphere. There are genitals attached to bodies and bodies attached to minds. The woman’s pants are twisted around her ankles, and her ass is moving up and down slowly, and seeing her body move like that makes me dizzy. Sometimes there are minds attached to genitals. When the man notices me staring out from behind a leafless plant, he lifts the woman off his penis as if she’s a toy. The woman doesn’t seem upset. She pulls up her pants and smiles and crouches down near the leafless plant and tries to give me a hug. There are kind people in the world. There is generosity here. As I stand outside the school and prepare to walk home, I realise I have never owned any plants in my adult life. One day I am going to leave the children, I promise you, I am going to leave this school and never look back and not one child will notice. No. Perhaps one or two of them might. The school is locked and empty. Plants and children are not for me. I don’t care about growing things.

About the author: The work of PATTY YUMI COTTRELL has been published in BOMB, GULF COAST and BLACK WARRIOR REVIEW, among other places. Her novel SORRY TO DISRUPT THE PEACE will be published this spring. She lives in Los Angeles.

5 Love
0 Comment
Once we were standing on our prayer hall, prayer was about to start, teachers gatchered, we were standing rowwise, everyday one student has to start the prayer, my bestie went infront of us and we closed our eyes, suddenly a sudden sound broke into our peaceful prayer, everyone scattered, they started screaming, "snakes, snakes, run, run from here". My bestie was in the front, how I can leave her, I dragged her and all of us went to our classrooms, minimum of 20 snakes entered into our classroom, we all stood up in benches, and strated shouting, our teachers in that school were all female teachers, no one was that able to come in front and make the snakes go away, soon one of friend came forward and all of us started to scare those with our bags, finally approximately one hour later, snakes ran away, we relieved.

What a horrible day that was, still I have goosebumps whenever I think of it.

Whenever I remind of my school, it automatically brings smile in my face, what a beautiful life that was, everyone used to be Friends, still there were bullies too, I think not only friends but bullies also gave us memories to remember and then smiling over them a lot...My school, I can't figure out I should feel lucky to have lots of friends or I should feel the most melancholic as to get such friends I lost a few of them, but in present I'm happy knowing that "Gems" are always gonna be with me, lucky to have them.

I have changed so many schools and the best school in my life was the school, with whom I got attached the most, where there were my childhood bestie and ultimate bestie with me.

Somehow Everywhere I found my teachers so helpful, some of them liked me a lot, they used to be understanding, few teachers used to be strict but alas, all used to melt near me😋😋...that's my quality.

In every school my friends used to send me to talk to principal, actually they used to fear a lot, they used to be strict but they were casual with me.

Not only this, school is the warehouse for my pleasant, horrible,joyous memories.

#principal #School #missumyschool #Nojoto #nojotoenglish

26 Love
4 Comment