Torrents Of Knowledge

As the sky begins its drenching grievances, darkness begins to reign, with the cold taking over, whispering slowly into the ears, and dragging out the raincoats and the thick blankets. There flow the cups of hot tea, and the tasty delicacies; and the footballs bounce and jump and dance in the puddles of mud; and later the bathrooms run brown with the chocolate of the ground. And then comes the finisher, a blow to the head; a push into an abyss- a void.

With the chilling winds, the papers fly, as the information snakes away, flowing freely, but in the mind. The brain halts in the flood, as the water sneaks into the engine, spluttering and choking and finally stopping with a cough. The drops of knowledge keep trickling, pitter patter, adding to the chaos of the choked main drain brain, clogged with the various plastics of life. But the flood doesn’t end.

Ink flows without restraint, as the pile of papers rises, with the research and statistics, and the words with many meanings. Screams and shouts disturb the day, and even the night, as the sweat drips into mud, and also onto the floor, as I hang on to the edge of life, just at the edge of the hole, the abyss, as the manuscripts threaten me.

The mind is enveloped in a haze, gloomy, scary and dark, and the light of education shines far away, derelict and desolate. Alarms go off, the sticky notes slump to the floor, and then mother steps in, a new captain, on the same ship. The course changes, and the way clears, as the giant looms, thundering above, eyes flashing with anger, and the wish to pull you into its grasp.

A bridge forms, materializing from the books, and their wise words, and from their knowledge, their intellect- a helping hand. The way looks smooth, glistening in the light of education, when the leg slips in the hidden moss, the unseen algae, and all seems lost. The day has arrived.

God seems the only helper, the only leader; and the pen resembles a weapon, a double-edged sword, risky, and dangerous; as the demon walks in, hidden in the jumbled letters on the paper. Wishes of good luck sound aloud, as all the warriors head into the game of grades, where one wins, or perishes, and there is nothing in between.

The plethora of emotions overflows and the worry combines with the strain, and it all seems to go in vain, and then comes the pain. The monster soon departs, only to come in later again, to make the period my favorite of the year, with the horrendous monstrosity of the exams, and with the abstract display of emotions, open to view on the huge canvas of life.