"The best four years of your life"
more like four whole years of stress and strife.

It's like an inescapable cage
filled with people who can't act their own age.

Hearing all the kids trying to sound cool,
When in all honesty you just want to see their blood pool.

Fake love, fake people, unsure of who to trust,
but apparently, in school, popularity is a must.

Going through seven classes a day,
wishing you could just make the pain go away.

I want to give up, just get up and fly,
but perhaps a better solution would be to just die.

It's hot outside and I've put on the air conditioner,
A glass of lemonade is an ideal refreshener.

Reading a classic as I lay on the bed,
For a moment I find it funny for having no studies on my head.

On my mobile, I play some music for a while,
Dance on it, but simply freestyle.

In this way I pass my holiday,
Until I realise that there's school the next day.

he sits at a desk in the library.
it’s nearly midnight and you watch him
take his notes and drink his water.
you’re a desk away from him
and you know that it’s much too late
to be making conversation
but he looks up
ruffles his own hair
and smiles at you something weary
something tired
something beautiful enough to
make you smile back
more genuinely than you honestly should.
he’s a stranger but it’s fine.

it’s dead silent in here
just you and the books
and the millions of things you could say
wrapped up in them
and while you’re trying to think of something
he curls his lips around the words
“finals, huh?”

you laugh and say
“yeah man.”

you want to maybe elaborate
tell him that this psychology exam
might actually be the death of you
tell him that you’ve been studying for
four hours straight and you think your eyes
might actually fall out of your head.

he laughs back and nods
“how many exams you got left?”

you groan
“just one. you?”

“two.”

“good luck with that”

he laughs and you want to say something
to make him do it again

he feels special
you know?
like.
you just know sometimes
but the air doesn’t feel like magic
it feels like you’re in a library
at midnight the night before a final exam
that you don’t know a **** thing about
but the guy a desk away from you
is still looking at you.
he’s still.
looking at you.

and you hadn’t noticed but
you’re still looking at him too.

he says
“i’ve been here since like six.
do you wanna get a coffee?”

just a little smile around the words
“yeah, sure.”

and you put away your psychology notes
and your laptop and your book
even though you’ll need to study for
at least three more hours to understand
a single thing it’s fine.
he packs up his things and the two of you
walk to the elevator.
he lets you press the button

you ask
“what were you studying?”

he says
“bio. you?”

“psych.”

“ouch.”

“yeah”
you laugh
and he laughs
and the elevator laughs
as it dings and opens its doors
even the environment has begun to
take part in your merriness.

you step inside
he hits the button for the first floor
and he says
“i took psych last semester.
which one are you in?”

you say
“one-ten.”

he says
“yeah that one’s rough. barely
passed it.”

“tell me about it”
you joke

and then the elevator dings again
and the doors open again
and the two of you fumble to step out
like you go first no you go first
and it’s all very cute

and you get to the starbucks on the first floor
get in line and take note of
how many people are still here
frantically cramming information into their
tired
tired
brains.

time skip
you two have your coffee.
you sit at a little table that
just barely became vacant
and you sip.
you got something hot and
he got something cold
and you thought it was cute because
it’s december and here he is with a frappe.

you chit and you chat
and think maybe this could be that
romance for the ages
that the movies talk about.

his laugh is like a jingle bell
happy holidays to you both
it seems.

he smiles at you again and you
sip your coffee
and before you know it
it's dangerously approaching 2 a.m.
but you can’t bring yourself to
check the time anymore

you laugh until you’re not strangers anymore
and he says
“this is such a great study break”

you say
“i’m so glad you asked to get coffee”

he smiles and says
“me too.”

and it’s all downhill from there

(or is it uphill?
you never can remember).

It‘s not what we ought,
Never was it sought,
To bring out a thought,
That you would get caught,
By the hands that fought,
In the night and fog,
On sunny days - drought.
Then you get knocked out,
Coffee in the mouth,
Then a single froth,

It’s caffeine.

An overdose.

You’re dead.

I am studying.
I am dying from exams.
I should get some sleep.

The only thing which restrain
Our progress and does train
Us to locate the farthest wain
And show us how we are wane.
Exams by force does restrain
Our growth changes into inane.
We found nobody to explain
Why teachers called exams profane.
Examination is the only restrain.
We studied some poems in quatrain
Or formulas of gases like butane;
And some more inert gases methane.
We saw fields growing sugarcane.
Examination is the only restrain.
But always needed one to explain
Why is exam dissolved in design?
If you too feel the same constrain
Join me and poems to liberty regain.
Examination is the only restrain.

Examinations is like a blain –
It is like a teacher with a cane;
Rules and decrees do clearly lain
To discourage us purpose main.
We are made scared and wane
Many a times makes us insane
Brain is trained by it to strain.
Exams are, for students, like sprain
In which they are controlled by rein.
But, few say exams make us crane
Which make us see out future pane.
Those suffered with zero only complain
That they had been disfavoured *******.
To get through it we need good arcane
Which many failures ready to abstain.
Can students have a nice campaign
To refer the exams a challenge plain?
Let’s use it as a tool success to attain
And not complain against it again.

I was looking for a friend,
when you tapped my shoulder
from the back and
I was confused how to
respond back to a recognition
from a person
that was not mutual.

Last time this happened
I was in a hall
trying to remember something
about microprocessors
so that I could at least pass,
when the invigilator stood
on top of me,
just staring me, writing.

Cold sweat droplets
started racing on my face,
assumption: he was
from my department.
When he finally spoke
he asked which exam
was I writing, and in
absolute bewilderment
I forgot, the name
of the exam I was giving!

You girl with an accent,
I had watched your poems,
writing you on stage
like the broad nip ink pen
that road trips with blue ink.
I just forgot,
in the sun burst of your face,
standing in front of me,
as if you knew me
for eternity.