—Ishan Jain
Usual Monday morning,
A boring 8 AM class.
Ten minutes for travel,
So I wake up within time.
Time is of the essence for extra sleep.
I lock my room,
As those greedy little monkeys
Drool at my reserve food.
The watercooler is empty,
I am late yet again.
The cycle is all dirty,
I sit wiping the seat with my hands,
And them on my jeans.
My stomach gurgles for food
But I pretend I didn’t feel it.
Just like my grades to me,
Ignore my pleas.
Slumber takes me over,
As I feel the cool morning breeze on my face.
I feel a burden on my body,
Just like a coolie,
Demanding a long rest at the end of the day.
The pending assignments,
Possess my mind.
I look at the spotted deer and blackbucks,
Frolicking and playing.
I have a strong urge to follow them.
Five minutes left for the class to begin.
The campus air is fresh and light,
But the atmosphere heavy.
My cycle makes a squeaking sound,
It is almost rhythmic,
I sing to it in my head.
I see hordes of students rushing,
Trapped in a mechanical life.
I am a part of it too,
Just willing to break the cycle,
But the chains are stronger than me.
This machine is shiny and attractive from the exterior,
But all rotten from inside.
I reach the parking area,
Hundreds more like me,
Giving it their all for some goal.
I park and lock my cycle,
With a heavy sigh.
Article 19 