The future worries me:
all of the unknown possibilities.
Indecision overcomes my mind,
at the time I most need it precise.

I even cried tonight,
looking at a list of courses:
mystifying options that I may not have
if I can’t write the essay right
or get the shiniest recommendations.

So I am worrisome,
for the next month and year.

I am worrisome because I want nothing more
than to be part of that place,
and to belong among those people.

go to bed  •think bemusingly of you
loop (cond) { tomorrow }
I rise in the morning (5am),
jog an 8K  •thinking of you, wash up
drink some flavored, black coffee
watch the morning sun balloon
eat toast while reading a set amount
write my unique and uninteresting analysis
work on half a dozen, odd assignments
walk .8 miles to campus  •thinking of you
team up, with some older, uninteresting guys
interview a focus group, present dataset interpretations
walk .8 miles back to my flat  •thinking of you
eat while reading a set amount
go to bed  •think bemusingly of you
loop (cond) { tomorrow }
I rise in the morning (5am)…
.
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Songs for this:
Falling Down a Well by Jack J
Overtime (pt 1) by Mk.gee  [E]

I just came from the cafeteria. In a shocking twist,
I have to actually meet people, I mean, can you imagine?
And we have group projects, my least favorite thing,
except perhaps, having a gym class.

The cafeteria was so crowded—didn’t I see you there?

Everyone there seemed to be wearing vintage Urban Outfitters.
I felt left out, but no one openly pointed at me.

Next, I expect to see bubblegum patch vests, skate-fit jeans and leopard-appliqué flats.

Between us, I’ve gotten old, and lost what little fashion game I had.
Now I’m modulated, that is, I’m over over-indulgence.

When I pictured myself in college, ***, what, a half a decade ago?
I imagined myself in a Lime Fizz Dress from Modcloth.
THAT never happened—which is all for the good.

School and by extension - school work - is definitely happening.
It’s not all studying while drinking back-to-back espressos at sunrise.

This week’s assignments due are: a ‘reflective assignment’ on qualitative research methods, a policy memo, a case analysis, and a group presentation. Argh.

So if you don’t hear from me—I haven’t been deported—I’m just oppressed.
.
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Songs for this:
This is Why by Paramore
Lauren by Men I Trust
Margaret by Pomegranate tea [E]

It drones on, with empty determination,  
the moving mouth;  
pouring out a jumble of blurring monotones,  
onto halfhearted minds.  
While stiff gears grind the rust of in-imagination  
and spin silent thoughts,  
that stay quiet and subdued.  

The people move in silent obedience  
to some empty hearted duty;  
colonizing the corridors like clockwork,  
hoping to find refuge in the knowledge,  
behind their murmuring doors.  

Solace to the lurking shadow,  
a fragile future,  
hung by fears and dollar signs.  

An intangible force,  
that makes our feet march in time,  
along the road to success.

First, you draw a square,
inside it — three more.

The one at the top
serves to control.

Lead a line down,
and connect the block —

Memory matrix
is what it’s called.

Draw a line,
then add some more —
and you’re almost ready to go.

There’s one last block
that’s set to show:

Call it the decoding central,
so we know what it’s for.

Give it some lines
that lead out right —

And now we know
what’s inside RAM...
right?

Ok, there’s no jailbreak.
Make room for my innocent alter ego,
because there’s nothing to rebel against.

There are zero classes in my nascent,
year-long, Harvard master’s degree.
They call it ‘self directed study’
and like rockets have stages,
I’ll have ‘self paced modules.’

Am I suddenly at Oxford University?
They’re quite famous for that (no formal classes).
Or am I suddenly grown up and trusted?
I obviously don’t have it all figured out yet,
so I’ll just trust the process.

When I started that other school
(that shall not be named), my advisor
handed me a computer printout - a list
with something like 40 courses on it.
I thought, “Oh, my God,” but one by one,
year over year, I checked-off those courses
and voila! They handed me a diploma.
It was a process.

I understand, if you’re disappointed about the jailbreak, but there’ll
be coffee breaks, lunch breaks, study breaks, bathroom breaks
and more than a few self-directed dance breaks. So stick around.

“You know,” my therapist said, so very seriously, a few years ago,
“you keep laughing.”
.
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I've Got the World on a String by Robin McKelle
****** Soul Picnic by Ledisi & Billy Childs

Like Harry Potter, the sorting hat (my mom)
has placed me in a ******, crimson colored school.
It’s disorienting, as I go about, the logos are wack.

Poor little rich girl
no beachside lovers
this interminable, scorching summer.

I’m swept up by scholastic spirit.
Can you hear it? Cause it’s deafening me,
on this cool, dry, Boston orientation day.

As we finished our morning 8k jog,
the sunrise blossomed, painting hot lava clouds
with hues of yellow, orange and pink.

We’re traipsing unfamiliar paths,
it’s not what we’re used to, the roads are uneven
and the architecture’s all boxy and wrong.
.
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Songs for this:
New Toy by Lene Lovich
Better After All by Jonatha Brooke
Now At Last by *****

That day…
when time paused mid-breath,
nd fate unscrolled its ancient scroll
you walked past me like a verse I was yet to read,
unknowingly planting roots in soil I’d long left barren.

That day…
our eyes crossed paths like rivers recognizing each other
from lifetimes ago…. no lightning, no thunder,
just a silence that echoed louder than any hello.

That day…
you spoke… not much, but enough to stir
a forgotten song inside me.
Your voice was not new; it was remembered.
Like da temple bell’s chime at dawn,
it felt like home I never knew I missed.

That day…
we laughed, hesitantly, like rain meeting parched land.
nd I, a skeptic of this syllabus called destiny,
surrendered to a chapter I didn’t plan to write.

That day…
you called me for da first time,
and I pretended it was casual !!!
but my heartbeat betrayed da script...
It raced like Krishna's chariot on Kurukshetra’s edge,
knowing a war of emotions had already begun!!!

That day…
your texts felt like mantras… small, sacred,
capable of silencing storms.
Who knew pixels on a screen
could feel warmer than touch?

That day…
we became friends - no,
we remembered that we were friends,
from some forgotten yuga
when Draupadi wept nd Krishna bled,
nd promises were not spoken
but soul-carved.

That day…
we fought. Words became arrows.
Eyes turned away,
nd my world… dimmed.
But like da Ganga always finds her way,
so did we - back to each other.
Bcz what’s meant,
was never meant to break.

That day…
we realized this bond isn’t made of time.
It is carved in cosmic dust,
where gods whisper tales of pairs like us
not just friends in common language,
but saanjhe rooh ke safar-saathi.

That day…
you held space for me.
Without touching, you touched.
Without asking, you knew.
Without promises, you stayed.

And today…
as college gates threaten closure,
nd corridors echo with last bell rings,
I do not mourn da ending
for how can one grieve a story
that never needed a beginning?

We….
are not a just campus tale.
We are da hidden verse
between Krishna’s flute nd Draupadi’s silence.
We are not goodbye.
We are always.

So, let da walls fade,
let da uniforms fold,
let routines dissolve
but us,
don’t you dare call this an ending.

Bcz no matter da cities,
no matter da silence,
some friendships are written
in Vedic ink nd starlight,
meant to outlive calendars
and remain…
Eternal,
Unclicked,
But never unloved.
                                        By: - Kanishk

I’m finally going to get on that platform
on the 18th of next month,
for a first-time, one-time performance.
The once, seemingly impossible will come fully true,
which seems like a lot narratively.

It’ll be like leaving home—but we’re crashing out.
Moving on to other plot points, big topics and intense missions.
We’re all caustically optimistic.

Although there’s a cellular-level pull to move on
we can’t help but feel a hesitancy to jump into our multifarious futures.
We’ve never been improvident.

In my personal pool of experience, when I feel alone,
friendless and unseen, this unintelligible fear noise arises
and I'm tempted to tap out. But I never have.
.
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Songs for this:
walk but in a garden by LLusion
What Dreams Are Made Of by Evann McIntosh
I Like You (A Happier Song) [feat. Doja Cat] by Post Malone