Exam Time...

Exams, without a doubt are God’s bane for sampling the fruit of knowledge and the recurring nightmare of the student life that so persistently sneaks out from under the bed every term. Oh well… no worries!

You see… for several of us, exams are a time of the year no different than Thanksgiving. Your usual bunch of buddies tend to be otherwise occupied, thereby ruining all possibilities for making a decent plan to get shitfaced… and you have no choice but to fly solo till the festivities are done. See? Exactly like the holidays.

Straying...

Wandering feet with a will of their own,

Lead away from roads of stone.

Over a desert of broken hopes and dreams,

Past graves and scattered bones.

The trodden road of risk free gain,

That helps men avoid all pain,

Always remains at the edge of sight,

A mocking mirage in the rain.

Trepidation...

It always starts with a rumor… not a fact. Not an open declaration of the things you dread… but a faint suggestion of imminent danger, hovering at the borders of your conscious.

It distracts you… it diverts you… whispering the echoes of a nameless fear at the edge of hearing. And telltale beads of perspiration begin to break out on your cold and clammy skin.

Is it true… or is it not.

Farewell...

Four years have gone,

It’s time to move on,

But the heart just refuses to move.

Had good times and bad,

Been pissed and been mad,

But this is one place where we’ve grooved.

Now the time has come to walk away from friends,

Things can no longer be just the same.

Engineering...

A syllabus discourse on Bezier curves,

For most of us, just frays our nerves.

Those long talks on Hamilton’s works,

Have no effect on us back bench jerks.

Theorems of maths and electric wires

Or physics concepts and robot’s tires.

Are all the same at the end of day,

When we engineers have nothing to say.

Way of the World...

Sitting on a bench,

In a crowded train,

And watching the world flash by,

A foggy fear,

Through frosted glass,

Keeps us high and dry.

MSIT Rap...

I go to this place,

They call MSIT,

For the past three years,

It’s been a home to me.

The first few months,

Were all right as rain,

I had a good time,

My ass wasn’t in pain.

But at the first year’s end,

Things started to get tough,

My eyes were opened,

To a load of lies and bluff.

Psychosis...

The last class of the day enters the final few minutes of its duration. It has been a hot and sultry afternoon… and dark storm clouds are beginning to appear over the distant horizon. A wet torrential evening seems to be in order.

The lecturer drones on in his sleep inducing monotone… no more interested in imparting education than his students are in receiving it. He is only kept awake by the ample display of bosom by the drowsy girl in the first row. He feels a moment’s shame fearing the discovery of his gaze’s direction. But the view… is worth the risk.