A Poem dedicated specially to students and based on my past experiences…
Scribbling down the notes from hell
I think about Cellular Jail
And staring at those evil eyes
On which I try to emphasize
That short, white & bearded man
Whom we address as ‘sir’
Initiates from washing brains
Till my memory goes blur
Those voices beaming in my head
Making me utterly sad
Its making me idiot not wise
His criticism feels vice
The heaps of books,
The stack of papers;
The pathetic notes,
Dangerous than daggers.
Why so much agony?
Not reflecting any irony
The ‘sir’ asks us whether things are clear
Honestly my brain was in 1st gear
So you could not clear our concepts
Because of your chapter attacks
He asks whether it makes sense
Not at all… you make us tense
He asks if we got idea of ‘debtor’
I was busy doodling your stature
He asked me fixed asset
I stood without rest
I looked in his eyes
I knew I was wise
I replied with confidence
Like if it was a conference
I was right and so I sat
Went to home I thought that
If he wouldn’t have burdened
We wouldn’t have surrendered
To the tough ocean of knowledge
And had enough courage
To speak in front of class
To speak up for the mass
So I finally I know I can’t deny
That he made our life
Need to salute that clever man
Who taught accounts in short span
To paranormal creatures from hell
Who despise him despite how well
He taught accounting to us
Without any kind of fuss
So well that we can do
Old accounts of Waterloo….
(Sorry the last line is damn cringe-worthy 😉 )
