Mock Epic: The Apocalypse Of The Marksheet Poem by ashok jadhav

Sing, O Inbox, herald of doom and dread,
Of heroes trembling at the post unseen,
When Examination Results, grim and final,
Descended swift to claim the souls of men.
The Student rose, a warrior of pens,
Whose nights were armies marshaled in despair:
Pages strewn like fallen soldiers of thought,
Highlighters brandished, formulas as shields,
Coffee brewed as sacrament of hope,
And notes, now crumpled, fluttered like defeated banners.
At last the fateful hour—the inbox glowed,
A tiny beacon of impending fate.
He clicked. O soundless click! The world held breath.
The Numbers shone, indifferent, merciless:
A three-digit judgment passed without delay,
Reducing empires built of midnight toil
To rubble, dust, and whispers of regret.
Friends appeared, each a hero of despair:
One cheered, arms raised, shouting with loud triumph;
Another wailed, defeated, clutching scripts;
And teachers, calm as Olympus from afar,
Observed the chaos with immortal eyes.
The Numbers ruled like kings on ivory thrones,
While Averages marched like armies on the field,
Percentiles and Ranks, legions of doom,
Advancing swift, relentless as the tide.
Hope fled the halls, replaced by bitter sighs,
And calculators, sacred tools, lay useless,
Their batteries spent in vain heroic effort.
Yet some survived, bearing modest pride,
The Quiet Ones, unnoticed, yet triumphant.
They toasted softly, careful to avoid
The wrath of those who failed, and those who soared.
So ends the epic of the Marksheet's might:
A battle fought in sleepless nights and nerves,
Where heroes rose, fell, wept, or laughed in vain,
And learned that fate can fit on one small page.