Where the food always feels,
Saltier, tattered, coconutted than the previous day,
And if you approach Sankar sir to reason with,
“ek worker kaa saadi thaa..” Is all he has to say.
Where half of the morning hours are mostly spent,
Upon the prospect of bunking the day’s classes.
And an application you ask your mate to write,
The reason of your absence being your broken glasses.
And your mate laughs hysterically,
Not because that you have got a perfect eyesight.
But because this idea of broken glasses,
It is the tenth time you have asked him to write.
Where, you don’t know one chap’s name,
But still share your pen drives and cigarette stumps.
And a crap maniacally knocks your door,
Just to find out if you have got any football pumps.
Where even before the exam schedule,
The news of postponed exams comes.
And upon a little ridicule that you do,
You are called as the hole in between your bums.
Where you really get keen to,
The premier leagues of cricket and soccer.
And if your man doesn’t score,
He is branded with a ‘F’ that rhymes with locker. (Yeah it rhymes with soccer too.)
Where if some chicks smile at you,
It becomes your mates’ newest hype.
And if the same chick moves around with a next guy,
Your room echoes with, “SHE WAS NOT YOUR TYPE”.
Where the day of the week is known by,
The scheduled dish of the morning breakfast.
Where the first bite of the salted idlii,
Also tends to become the last.
Where you lay down lazy and languid,
With nothing to deal with but idleness.
But like warriors you’ll scream out your lungs,
Should the current goes off in any case.
Where dozens of vagabonds find their peace,
Their liberty and freedom set loose.
Where serious talks like the above verses,
Can only be thought over some shots of booze.
So this is the story of where I live,
Simple funny though it is,
But I prefer these hostel blues,
To the luxuries of any cities.
... But I prefer these hostel blues,
To the luxuries of any cities.
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Comments about this poem (Hostel blues by Bijay Poudel )
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Edgar Allan Poe
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(August 8, 1884 – January 29, 1933)
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