The location where our feet hit the grounds,
The area which echoes our emitted sounds,
The familiar paths which once we did roam,
At a place which we call our home.

So we’ve spent countless days,
Moments of glees and dismays,
All those seconds, which were my firsts,
At a place which we call our home.

Talking and giggling over childish stuff,
Determined to plan another idiotic bluff,
Sprawled on those grasses, those greenish brome,
At a place which we call our home.

Running in those corridors behind something we saw,
Or to the college gate from the Faculty of Law,
Discovering life and its every chrome,
At a place which we call our home.

Meeting myriad people in those lanes,
Or waiting for the class at window panes,
And using it as a mirror, to manoeuvre my comb,
At a place which we call our home.

Writing stuff with a friend much dear,
Or clicking a photo of the flower near,
Or doodling weirdly the structure of a dome,
At a place which we call our home.

Lazing in the ground or running for a ball,
Trying to dance or experiencing a funny fall,
Or avoiding the leftover watery foam,
At a place which we call our home.

Enacting some scene or delivering a speech,
Trying to apply techniques seemingly beyond our reach,
Or living the role of a garden gnome,
At a place which we call our home.

Thinking philosophy, meditating over life,
Trying to choose our future wife,
Or sitting idle, digging into the loam,
At a place which we call our home.

Matching the pace in this syllabi race,
Or tracking the details of a historic space,
Or figuring the answers in milli-Ohm,
At a place which we call our home.

Critiquing, writing, making projects,
Studying the text and background pretexts,
Of contemporary days or back to ancient Rome,
At a place which we call our home.

Balancing our physical and virtual presence,
Creating jokes or sharing memes, and hence,
Vividly defining an undergraduate’s genome,
At a place which we call our home.

Co-living with the fauna or pranking our mates,
Or surviving the theory and practical dates,
Such potentially nostalgic moments cause the ‘Student’s Syndrome’,
When far from a place which we call our home.

 

– Abhinavanand Singh

( #TheHummingPoet )

 

Photograph by Abhinavanand Singh.PhotoGrid_1487950201151.jpg

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s