"study" poems
Our parents are always telling us , you have to go to school, that you'll learn everything you need to know before you're ready for the big world, and that'll you need it to get into your dream job
But now a days our education isn't about learning, its about passing
Our education now isn't the same as it used to be
It teaches us that if you're not at a certain grade level, you will not succeed
That if you don't meet a certain criteria, maybe you're not for fit the course
This education system doesn't teach us whats really important for the big world
It doesn't teach us how to live, how to do taxes or how to survive
It never taught us the living expenses or how to buy a home
Never taught us what to expect once we leave for college or how to balance our schedules
No. It only taught us homework, about a plant cell, about tangents and circumferences
It taught us that homework is more important than family
That it's more important than being a kid and having a life
It taught us that if you spend time with loved once and didn't do your work, you're setting yourself up for failure
They pile us with work it feels like we cant breath
They never once thought of the other class assignments that must be due not even 24 hours later
They make us memorise things that will no longer be important when we apply for a job
We study for hours in hopes to pass that final test that we'll soon forget
But what are we suppose to say when someone asks us how we're feeling?
We were never taught that
We never memorised an equation to help us find the answer
We were only ever taught to keep our mouths shut and do our work
Its quite funny what we learn in school now
Things more than 80% of the students will never have to use let alone see again
School was suppose to prepare us for our future
For the job choice we pick
Instead we meet and learned quadratics and plant cells
We were taught homework is what your focus should always be on
We were never taught about the future and what to do
And most importantly
We were never taught how to love ourselves and the things we should be greatful for
They've turn us into sad, mindless robots that's are more concerned about grades and passing than whats going on with the family
We lock ourselves in our rooms doing homework for 6 hours than talking to our mothers or fathers who wonder about us
We were never taught the importance of family before it was too late
Every single highschool student wishes they can turn back the clocks, but it'll never work
We were taught the hard way that you don't really know what you have until its gone
Something we weren't prepared for
They never prepared us for the future
Instead, we prepare our self for the possible failing outcome
How are we suppose to make a living for ourselves when all we have learned was the stress over homework and family?
The depression over a failed test or assignment?
The lost feeling of the lost time?
How are we suppose to love ourselves when all we do is put yourself down because of school?
This education system never prepared us for anything
Instead, this education system officially has broken all of us.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 4:41 PM UTC
You cause
a break inside my organs
Pointing out my flaws
our differences.
You are at peace.
I sit jittering, worrying
what everyone will think
of when I didn’t care
you made me laugh at
everything
Changes. You’re not right for me
Nor I for you, but I can’t help
Thinking
What if? Then I remember
you’re not what nor
Everything I want.
You are an intellectual snob you
have a depth about you
I would love to delve in,
a psychological study
that even the best critics would praise,
but I don’t want anyone else to have been there
or ever go there.
I cannot hold on to you
tear me away while
You’re haphazardly gluing us together
We’re a kindergarten art project
messy, trying to see
Beauty within the confusion,
unfinished
You asked me
Where am I most at peace
4 years old.
I could be anything
No fears
I hadn’t been ripped apart.
I was the girl that said everything,
until I felt the need to screen my thoughts,
like the filter you use to make your coffee
each morning. I wish that’s where I was,
having you tell me
that you like your women like your coffee
Dark and bitter.
I can look past your chauvinistic ways,
not giving a **** about anyone.
You’re not really closed minded
You just act like it,
which annoys the hell out of me
Sometimes. I wish life was simple.
But then
I would never know your complexities nor
Feel the things you help me feel,
like hate for train whistles
or the burn of gin hitting my throat.
Music
you introduce me to
offstage trumpets, bad movies. Your politics,
your brown eyes
and how you can hear frequencies
that most everyone else can’t. I worry
that you hear
the fear in my voice and heartbreak
With every word I speak.
When were you going to tell me?
Or was that your plan all along?
To throw me out
like yesterday’s coffee grounds
or cut up scraps
Used and unwanted.
I wish I could tell you
to tell her you don’t want her
but me instead,
you don’t, I don’t want you to.
I want holding hands, laughter
comfort, personality, humor, intellect.
You want that plus things
I can’t give
But you always take.
You are your coffee
disgusting, caffeinated,
addicting
the only patch that helps is
comforting words you never spoke.
We had many conversations
of your desires, lusts, mistakes,
but I was burned,
by lies, distrust.
You left, like always,
a harsh, acidic aftertaste
on my tongue.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 10:20 AM UTC
~
*O Painter
with thy own eye
would thee
paint me in mine own natural hue
prithee paint me as i am,
imperfections
and blemishes true
Load thy brush
with colors sundry
to maketh yond first pure sweep
across the ****** frieze,
fill'd with pangs of hunger.
paint me as i standeth
bethought, in deep
With mine own love and mine own desire,
blurring the edges unclean
with mine own regrets
and mine own mental gyre,
in mine own natural age,
of deep forest green
O Painter
Paint me sinister turquoise,
in lavender and maroon,
combine the amethyst and amber
blend the iceberg
and the indigo moon.
Paint me as i standeth,
prithee see with thy eye
a mistress in yond lady plight
Prithee paint me all i am
i cullionly
a mistress in all yond lady might
Paint me in the optimistic
silv'r of dawn,
but don’t miss the purple
to shade the bruise
of the bygone.
paint me in the sky blue journal
O Painter
Paint me as a unique template
smudge black white and grizzled
merging all the colors of thy palette.
col'r me a rainbow
in a rainy drizzle
Paint me tall so yond i standeth
loftier than any mountain
Paint me as a dram bird, delicate
with soft feathers silken
Paint me harmony, as a violin
so yond i can sing thy solitary tune
paint me as thy poetry
with song and melody
wrapp'd in a cocoon
O Painter
paint me as a dream yond rises
in did saturate colors
with a steady upbeat flight awry
tint, a fluttering
of a quite quaint butterfly
Portray me with endurance
imbue so bold and bright
doth not hesitate
to depict mine own mind
in profound fuchsia and white.
Useth the colors yond thee would borrow
Thy palette not yet exsufflicate
Paint mine own loss and mine own sorrow
in search of a shade so ******
Adorn mine own heart in glowing garnet
at which hour thee paint mine own love
add a true broken blue shade
of the cloud and the rain above;
Study mine own dry sorrow
in mine own soul
useth any shade thee plaited
soften the edges of control
in a tinge of xanthene.
O Painter
Prithee paint me
Mine own passion and mine own spirit
shall has't a crimson r'd hint
mine own remorse and mine own regret
shall reflect an ink stain print
Paint me in mine own eye so true
O Painter
but add a dash of courage too*
~
Dec 17, 2017
Dec 17, 2017 at 10:52 AM UTC
As we sit down to our dinners,
as we open our romance books,
people die.
We sip our water;
their guts spill open.
We study our notes;
their planes crash.
We live;
they die.
We breathe;
they suffocate.
We are testaments to chance,
to luck, to possibility.
We are not products of God.
We are blind goats trotting on our path
before we perish, suddenly,
and vanish into death.
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 2:08 PM UTC
Smash, slash, and if you're a noob you spam. Video Games the most interactive experience ever, it brings out the best and worst out of all of us. Combos and controls to study, instead of trying to study for an upcoming test. Some people say video games turns your brain into mush, but studies show that video games actually help people in the real world. Oh how I love video games they let me experience things outside can't, and even though movie versions of games aren't that good, I never usually get disappointed with sequels. Video games create more than fun times, they have also helped create my identity. So thank you video games for making me who I am.
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 4:04 PM UTC
I could’ve woken you up in the morning and could’ve been the sun that rises even when we both live in a place where it never does.
I could’ve taken you to museums, at least 2 of where I’ve been to. The first one, we’ll have to take the bus because I’d tell you that I’m too lazy to drive but for the second one, I will tell you that I’ll drive you there.
My car would look at me as though it knows that there is another soul seating in the passenger seat – it was no longer some books, a box of pizza, or my dog.
I could’ve taken photos of you in that place, post them everywhere but subtly so that they can see that there are at least 2 forms of art in that photo — the one you’re looking at and the one I’m looking at.
I could’ve talked to you at night under the stars, in the same rooftop where I told you that I liked the cathartic experience of doing just what we could’ve done; the same rooftop where you talked about your life, at least some pieces of it.
I could’ve brought you to where I used to study. We could’ve walked the halls that stared at me for being too alone and too lonely only so I could tell them, “Hey, here he is, finally.” and they could’ve smiled at me because they know how long the longing lasted.
We could’ve taken a stroll in the shade of the trees or could’ve had a picnic there while watching the joggers and the sunset.
I could’ve introduced you to my friends – they’ve been meaning to meet you. They too know how long I’ve been stuck on an island by myself. They know who I was when I was eleven and when I was sixteen and I bet, if you gave them a chance, you could’ve heard the crazy things we did.
And maybe they could’ve liked you. They could’ve told me how lucky I was and probably would’ve warned me that if I hurt you, they’d stick with you instead of me.
I could’ve introduced you to my family — my mom liked you even then. I could’ve introduced you to my little brother who I would consider as the biggest and most important judge of character because I believe that children can sense goodness in people and he could’ve seen that in you.
I could’ve written you letters, could’ve left random little tokens I would've used for all the words I cannot muster to say.
I could’ve played the piano for you even if I just know, at most, 3 songs; even though I don’t really know how to read notes at all.
I could’ve introduced you to the artists I like and I could’ve known more of yours. I could’ve listened to them and I would have had to remember you every time.
I could’ve held your hand, could’ve eaten brunch with you, could’ve read you a poem.
I could’ve loved you — could have – if I was the given the chance.
But, I was and I could’ve used it but I didn’t.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 11:01 PM UTC
I think it's crazy that they want me to type an essay over deforestation for a score or practice or to better my writing. That's 60 more minutes I'm wasting of my life. They say that sooner or later everything we do we will do with technology. So here I am now writing this essay that's supposed to be about deforestation and the effects and consequences. We are not discussing the issue. We are sitting in wooden chairs with our computers sitting on our wooden desks surrounded by wooden bookcases. So much irony right? I seem to be the only one to notice anyways.
We come here seven hours a day, do hours of homework, "study" the information, aka memorize regurgitate then forget all of it. This is not teaching us. We are not learning anything useful to help us live. It's all numbers and words that do not matter to me.
If anyone thinks that all us kids come to school to learn they're wrong and if they think that the teachers come to teach they're even more wrong. We come to pass class after class so we can leave and actually make something of ourselves. The teachers come because they have to for the money. They do not care about us or our feelings. They put all this pressure on us to be the best we can be which really means make a good grade.
I've been silent for so long now. Not expressing my feelings towards much of anything. Also toward the reason I have to wake up at five every morning to be around people I do not even like.
I feel as though the education system is unfair and cruel and does not take into consideration what the kids who go through this cycle everyday think.
So that's what I think about deforestation.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC
My momma told me na I'm no musikero;
I am but an educated tambay
'cuz all I do is study and tagay.
Oct 18, 2021
Oct 18, 2021 at 10:29 AM UTC
You've asked me what the lobster is weaving there with
his golden feet?
I reply, the ocean knows this.
You say, what is the ascidia waiting for in its transparent
bell? What is it waiting for?
I tell you it is waiting for time, like you.
You ask me whom the Macrocystis alga hugs in its arms?
Study, study it, at a certain hour, in a certain sea I know.
You question me about the wicked tusk of the narwhal,
and I reply by describing
how the sea unicorn with the harpoon in it dies.
You enquire about the kingfisher's feathers,
which tremble in the pure springs of the southern tides?
Or you've found in the cards a new question touching on
the crystal architecture
of the sea anemone, and you'll deal that to me now?
You want to understand the electric nature of the ocean
spines?
The armored stalactite that breaks as it walks?
The hook of the angler fish, the music stretched out
in the deep places like a thread in the water?
I want to tell you the ocean knows this, that life in its
jewel boxes
is endless as the sand, impossible to count, pure,
and among the blood-colored grapes time has made the
petal
hard and shiny, made the jellyfish full of light
and untied its knot, letting its musical threads fall
from a horn of plenty made of infinite mother-of-pearl.
I am nothing but the empty net which has gone on ahead
of human eyes, dead in those darknesses,
of fingers accustomed to the triangle, longitudes
on the timid globe of an orange.
I walked around as you do, investigating
the endless star,
and in my net, during the night, I woke up naked,
the only thing caught, a fish trapped inside the wind.
20.9k
why are so many things so tempting?
why do people let their hearts rule their hands
rule their mouths
rule their minds
why do I?
I can't control my hands, my words my mind
the seduction is there
every step of the time
the rules the lines they all become blurred
and all my thoughts just whirl and stir
a cesspit of temptation
to do things I shouldn't
to do things that would hurt others but make life easier,
to disobey the rules
I've followed my entire life
don't spend too much time reading and study instead
the seduction is there
pulling along
changing my ways
making everyday a little harder
but
a little bit better
a cruel mistress with
the best
of intentions
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 9:53 PM UTC
come
I invite you
study me
I want you
embrace the wonder
I will show you
the snowflake of my soul
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
Intense Workout
I try to workout diligently,
at least 3 times a week,
the muscles are tight and strong,
I'm certainly no geek,
I pump the iron, walk the track,
listen to my tunes,
but lately I've been distracted,
watching for ms June
She's quite the lovely lady,
recently moved to this place,
she is French, with sweet accent,
puts smiles on my face,
vous êtes l'homme élégant she says to me,
her eyes sparkle bright,
I have no idea what that means,
so I just smile with delight
sometimes she reaches out,
and touches me on my arm,
de tels forts muscles she says,
and this makes me warm,
I need to study French I guess,
so I won't look the fool,
for all I know, there is a chance,
she is calling me a tool
the thing that's bad about this all,
is I work out way too long,
trying to impress this girl,
make her think I am King Kong,
now my muscles are getting sore,
I'm working way to hard,
if I keep this up much more,
I'll be searching for my doctor's card
Gomer LePoet...
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
the angel amongst us
~for Alexander, master splasher~
*flexibility is important when poetry writing in a warm tub and a long day ahead is scheduled; so willingly accept the autocorrect
for I am both an experienced poet and bath soaker and
believer in wondrous mystery and unexpected fumbles
that lead to to miracle touchdowns
~•~
the two mathematicians examine the angle, measure the degree of difference at intersection and bless it with an identity,
calling it by its name,
perhaps obtuse, perhaps right, perhaps both
two sets of eyes examine the angle,
study its ****** expression
the old man says:
see the angle on the clock formed by the big handle on the twelve and the little hand on the eight?
this is angle of eight o’clock:
time to stop the splashing and start the get-readying
for we have miles to go before the ocean can say hello!
little angel says angle no go
and slashes the water with both
hands to establish the firmness of his views
and change Einstein’s time from present to future
the angle depends on the perspective of the viewer
the old poet comprehends leaving a warm tub is a regretful thing
but he measures the degree of difference at this
intersection
of time and bath and blesses it with an identity
“time to go”
the angle of my angel is now 2 pointed arms, pointed straight up,
at the twelve o'clock,
as he stands up in fevered protest,
my arms sweep his little legs to
a point at eight o’clock,
angel, commenting on his swift flight
disputes the grandfathers physics
"no go now,
now go later^"
though the angle is unchanged
the perspective of time and space
(and traffic),
yet differs
one sees an angle,
the angel sees time
eternally folding in on itself*
that is the angle amongst us
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 8:58 AM UTC
I know it's just been a week
But I'm already beginning to miss you
And I'm not the only one
You do make an impact
On anyone who has been lucky enough
To get to know you
Whether it be family or friends
Or maybe even total strangers!
Anyway, we've had some great times together
I shall never forget our trip to the UK
And the fun we had there
Especially the Wimbledon camping experience
Would you have believed me then
If I had told you
That you would end up returning there to study
In a matter of three years?
Mysterious indeed, are the ways
In which Fate works
Our trip to USA was equally memorable
Who will ever forget that iconic moment
When you identified a McDonald's cafe from the plane?
Nothing, absolutely nothing ever
Escapes those beady eyes of yours
This is one of the many things I love about you
We may not spend a lot of time talking to each other
But you understand me very well
Perhaps more than I understand myself
And I know that I can always count on you
Anyway, I am getting too sentimental
Have a good time out there
I'm sure you'll find new friends
In fact, as I write this
You seem to be making progress on that front already
Try to balance studies and housework as much as you can
And most importantly
Take care of yourself
Whatever problems you might face
Know that you're not alone
We have your back always, no matter what
It is your happiness
Rather than what course you do
Or what job you may find
That matters to us the most
So, on that note
Let me wish you all the very best
Take care and stay in touch
Miss you loads
Sep 25, 2022
Sep 25, 2022 at 12:32 PM UTC
No accounting for taste.
What you dislike
and called a waste
is what I like.
You call cheese,honey
I called it bitter pill.
You prefer a monkey
while chimp makes me chill.
You like worshipping sun
I love worshipping God
It really fun
you called mine odd.
I lived in tradition
You lived in modernity
But in addition
I lived in christianity.
You urged me to study biology
I urged you to learn Shakespeare
You want me to live by astrology
Let poetry be your spear.
You prefer winter
that is your choice
Mine is summer
when I'll rejoice.
When you lay on your bunk,
you hear the music,rock
but I listen to punk
who should be given a sock?
You love a black lady
with long dark hair
I love a white baby
to be my heir.
You desire democracy
as system of your
government
I desire theocracy
it had the best management.
Let us be a union
Let there be chaste
Let's tolerate each
one's opinion
for no accounting
for taste.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
Depression.
One word.
Pretty easy to say.
But what you don’t know
Is that it controls my day.
The sun rises as I go to get out of bed
yet depression whispers “You’d be better off dead.”
But I push through those words and I make it to class
when it comes to concentration, depression kicks me in the ***
So I go to eat lunch, but nothing looks appetizing
depression smiles at me and asks if that’s surprising
Another class, let’s see how this one goes
Will I pass this test? Only depression really knows
Cause last night when I went home and tried to study
depression was surely there, my only buddy
And although I tried to do my absolute best
depression said, “I think we’ll fail this test.”
My teachers look at me in absolute disgust
I try to tell the truth, but depression doesn’t let me trust
So instead I say I’m sick, a cold or maybe the flu
But I’m sick inside my head, and depression proves that true
You can’t expect them to understand the pain and the sorrow
This depression is unique to me, you’d only know if my mind you could borrow
But back to my daily routine, I didn’t mean to digress
sometimes my thoughts start racing, depression never lets me rest
Which leads me to sleep, for some the best part of the night
Dear depression, will you let me sleep? Maybe, I just might
Then I look at the clock and it’s almost four in the morning
Depression, why are you doing this? In my mind it’s nearly storming
For most are in their beds, cuddled up all snug and tight
But depression sowed up early this morning, so I have to be ready to fight
Some have called me strong, but that is not how I feel
for depression clouds my head, and I’m not sure what’s real
And there it is again, the sun has stared to rise
I’ve made it through another day, to depression, that’s a surprise.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC
*study
*your defined mounds and dipping hips,,
lips and heated soles, to ascertain that
your mine willingly, you're alive, still mine,
to have and hold,
not to be me, a left~behind*
*for
you in and ex,
hale~hail me not,
you chest. convex nor concave,
if it gives, lives, moves, my eyes,
mine wetted eyes cannot discern,
and the precious stillness I do so adore
cherish,
contaminated by
notions of you having perished*
+
*it,
is wished hard away,
wished hard it may disappear,
a sigh. a groan, a puzzling moan, anything
even a sudden dreaming scream,
to confirm that our heat still can be all merged,
so that your light sleeper schema cannot be
touched and thus defeated,
so I write an only love poem,
and sign it with tears
of a cursed quiet streaming,
clouded, most unliterary, but
always
with a super silent adoration, of, for*
she,
who cannot be disturbed
Sep 22, 2025
Sep 22, 2025 at 4:16 PM UTC
The girl who would rather spend her Friday night at home organizing her room than at the parties.
The girl who would rather curl up and read at lunch than sit and socialize over talk of nothing but "people".
The girl who would rather drown out the world with music than sit in class and be involved.
The girl who would rather work alone and finish her homework in class, than sit in the big social groups making weekend plans.
The girl who would rather be independent and be judged as a loner than be friends with people who will secretly judge you.
The girl who would rather collect books and records than makeup.
The girl who would rather study astrology than watch every show on Netflix.
The girl who would rather thrift shop and buy $3.99 boots than buy top of the line $80 boots.
The girl who realizes that all of this does not make her any better than them.
The girl that realizes she is only trying to impress herself; confidence is key.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 8:13 PM UTC
If you give a girl a with a big heart your broken pieces,
she will gently pick them up and carry them in her soft hands,
and pay no mind to your sharp edges.
She will try to glue you back together
and she’ll do it in a way that made you forget you were ever broken.
With scratched finger tips and ****** palms,
she’ll lift you up to the sun,
letting it's blinding rays shine through you
to show you that even the worst things have things to love in them
and that even the shattered can again be whole.
If you give a girl with a big heart your body,
she will study you like an archaic God.
She will learn your curves and surfaces like braille,
she will adjust her hearing to the pitch of your laughter
so that no matter how far apart you become,
her ears will perk up like a dog's when you giggle,
and she will smile, knowing that you smile.
If you give a girl with a big heart your time,
she will make each second feel like infinity,
and each sunset like the end of the world.
You'll forget that the universe is as vast and wondrous as it is,
because you will be so captivated by the light that she emits
right where she sits,
by your side.
And if you take from a girl with a big heart,
please,
for the love of God,
do not take it all.
If you take from a girl with a big heart,
please remember that her love is not a renewable resource.
The wind and the sun and the water will forever be there to serve you but
she will run dry, and become another fact of history that will one day be forgotten.
If you take from a girl with a big heart,
please remember how sharp your edges were before her,
how lifeless your body was before she touched it,
and how meaningless time was before she made it into something magical.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 4:20 PM UTC
I saw the old man circling the tree trunk
Weather beaten skin, bent gnarled hands
and piercing blue eyes
He seemed to study every knot and crack
in that ancient timber
Then without a word turned and picked up hammer and chisel
The wood chips then began to fly and like confetti on the ground lie soon in heaps some ankle high
Occasionally he would stand back and look but never once a rest he took
Mallet strokes both hard and soft some from under some aloft fell there with unerring skill always busy never still
Long into the night he worked now by the light of an oil lamp and so the tree stump 'neath his hand then became a work of art
At long last he stood and turned to me and said three words " that'll do lad"
I approached to see just what he'd done and there I saw the perfect rose every petal and leaf in place the slender stems in the breeze did sway
With no plan or picture he had made the start
And created the perfect work of art.
So what is creativity? Well that's your next challenge.
No love poems because they've been done a million times. This time something unique
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
a half line
incomplete stanza
an unrhymed sentence
well defined trauma
the poet's thought
uncaptured on the paper
many drafts
and crushed papers
around the study
there is a lot
same thoughts
and some sought
no process
little sense
world of words
and many buds
more time needed
to bloom
and here comes
the start of coming doom.
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 12:49 PM UTC
A catalyst is a chemical that speeds up reactions.
At least that’s what I learned in chemistry class.
Catalysts sometimes are the major factors in a reactions and without them,
The reaction could never happen.
Catalyst can be lab chemicals,
alcohol,
drugs,
coffee even,
or a person.
While lounging around one afternoon you were talking physics
And I turned it on your head and spoke of chemistry,
Knowing full well that I was speaking of our personal chemistries.
You were right, the physics of a relationship gives us the laws,
But CHEMISTRY can predict the outcome.
If you do the math and follow the directions,
you can determine the product without even doing the experiment.
Unless the reaction you are creating has never been attempted before by the scientists preforming the experiment.
They can flip through the books,
Read the essays,
Study the theorems,
Even attempt the calculations,
But if they don’t do the actual experiment,
They will never find their outcome.
Some things need a push,
A catalyst,
For them to form a bond,
React,
And combine into a stable combination.
Hypotheses must be TESTED, ACCEPTED, and RATIFIED
Before becoming a law.
No matter how based in logic your hypothesis might be,
You need the universe and its fundamental laws to back it up.
There are still surprises left in the universe.
Maybe you and I can be one of them.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
Exams are a great fear,
Less marks,no one can bear
Exams are like ghosts,
During exams,our mind gets roast
Exams are full of studies,
Everyone gets tensed even the WhatsApp buddies
No one laughs, no one plays,
Empty roads empty ways
Study study study,
Exams are on the way
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 10:29 PM UTC
My friends describe me
as a man of few verbal words.
Funnily, the words are chosen
poorly for someone who
thinks so much about what
a person should and shouldn't say.
Last year, a classmate told me
she would get at least three words
out of me before our study group
quit for the night. I responded,”You lose”.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 12:20 AM UTC