The Last Hurdle

Life is short, it just goes by,

With all its color, and the shadows,

It stares right through, tearing apart,

Clenching from the soul,

Awaiting the fight to go on,

The words on paper glisten,

The fresh ink gleaming on the parchment,

Weary are the hands, heavy is the head,

Just the toll scribbling has on us,

Celebration awaits, a party so magnificent,

Held away just by the couple,

The couple of time and the last hurdle,

It’s the last fight, the last stand,

One last jump to make for the year,

A push before the New Year slows down,

A rush before the calm of the New Year sets in,

It’s a funny feeling, of excitement and anxiety,

Of fear and hope, of curiosity and desire,

The passion pushes on, a kick to strive,

It’s a one way street- exertion,

And it’s just for a day, a moment, a time,

Just the last time, one last time,

Before the end of the year,

One last stand, one last fight, one last hurdle,

Then no more,

No falling, no slipping, no going down,

Up is the way, and it’s new.

Distress

There’s a wish to write,

Some words forming in the mind,

It’s a rhyme, coming to the light,

There’s no topic, that’s all I need to find.

A need to stop and destress,

Just get away from the stress,

It all seems like a mess,

I guess I need a recess, to look back,

And digress, I do, really, yes.

The words are flowing,

As the tension is growing,

Precious time is going,

Is it time already, ‘cause,

I can hear the cock crowing.

The syllabus is an assumption,

Everything except the text is an addiction,

I don’t know the use, but I know the application,

I hope that’s enough, or I’ll end up facing demotion.

It’s time to go, really, no,

But studies is important, so,

I’ll stop here, in a mo,

Or I’ll end up mixing up sigma and rho.

The future seems bleak,

As the pressure is reaching its peak,

For now, marks is all I seek,

But I didn’t study before, just to not be called a geek.

Times up, the clock’s ringing,

The solutions in sight, and answers they’re bringing,

Back from immemorial, Eminem on the mute, still singing,

I’m running from them books, bored, thus cringing.

But that’s all I got to do.

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.