Result Poem by PARTHA SARATHI PAUL

A herd of stray students;
all are boys, now sixteen plus,
bunking a coaching class
flies smoke like smoking friends
crouching in their pale shadows.

Whispers hear whispers
in the daring light from open windows;
muffled voices give off sighs
on their casually caused failures.

Their shadows now flee from a street to a street
with their satchel full of worries
for the price of their lazy cozy hours and years.
The judgement awaits them a little away.

A bevy of girls, now sixteen plus,
not busy with their usual chatter and chuckle and grin
with their regular dimples unseen putting marks
on their already written papers count the beads of time's sin.

And who have fought like good soldiers
want the hours to pass that stand between them and their awards weaved with sweats they shed in their hope with all study hours.