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)