I heard what matters,
Occupies some space.
Never knew marks
Would join the race.
The race, again, begun at three,
With atoms and molecules bending their knees.
While dreams sat quiet in the back,
Graded, weighed, and trimmed to track.
Everyone wondered,
Why marks was here?
But Marks ran casually,
Topping the tier.
This race of expectations
Went on for a year,
“STOP!” shouted me,
But no one could hear.
I carried my questions,
Like bricks on my back.
“Was I a number?
Or just off-track?”
 A1 meant praise,
And a B? Disgrace.
But no one saw the effort
That showed in my face.
Trophies smiled from glassy shelves,
While tired souls questioned themselves.
We chased gold stars with teary eyes,
Trading wonder for a hollow prize.
They said, “Your future’s in your grade.”
But never asked how I felt, or what I made.
Of dreams, of art, of thoughts that fly,
Things that numbers can’t quantify.
Oh Marks! you sly little beast,
You sat at every parent's feast.
But when I fell, when I broke apart,
You weren’t the one to mend my heart.
So now I ask with wiser tone,
Do marks define a soul alone?
They test the mind, but miss the fire—
The silent ache, the deep desire.