My College – My Pride

This college is quite old
With the sea in front of it.
Bungalows are departments and
Rooms are halls converted.

The green windows in it
Are slowly eaten by rust.
Walls are cracked beyond repair
But shelter a dove and pair.

The sand is brought by wind
To cover the floor and us.
Paint forever is falling on us
Prematurely old are we.

The botany students of ours
Need go nowhere for flowers:
For, here we have them in our midst
Pressed and ready for use.

Cows and pigs and goats
Cats and flies and dogs.
Blue and grey insects galore
Move around the floor.

The study of Indian History
Is incomplete without this college.
‘cos its still upright with head held high
after the tumults of war.

(A star for guessing the name of my college)

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