Whose labs these are I'm sure I know,
His house is in the suburbia though.
He will not see me stopping here,
Or watch his labs fill up with smoke.
My dimensionless self must think it queer,
To chose not a party-school somewhere.
I haunt the labs, not a touristy lake,
On the sexiest evening of the year.
I gives my laptop keys a shake,
To check if I am still awake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of janitors & parties at a faraway lake.
Yawn! These labs are lovely, dark and deep,
Yawn! And I have relentless deadlines to meet,
piles, higher and deeper to finish before I sleep,
piles, higher and deeper... no finish... I sleep...
(In the name of graduatestudentkind, with due apologies to Robert Frost and his horse, woods and snow;
with conviction that imitation, with apt citation and an effort of rewriting lines in your own words, is the surest way of academic flattery, composed by Vivek Sharma, June 2011, inspired partly by phdcomics!)
His house is in the suburbia though.
He will not see me stopping here,
Or watch his labs fill up with smoke.
My dimensionless self must think it queer,
To chose not a party-school somewhere.
I haunt the labs, not a touristy lake,
On the sexiest evening of the year.
I gives my laptop keys a shake,
To check if I am still awake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of janitors & parties at a faraway lake.
Yawn! These labs are lovely, dark and deep,
Yawn! And I have relentless deadlines to meet,
piles, higher and deeper to finish before I sleep,
piles, higher and deeper... no finish... I sleep...
(In the name of graduatestudentkind, with due apologies to Robert Frost and his horse, woods and snow;
with conviction that imitation, with apt citation and an effort of rewriting lines in your own words, is the surest way of academic flattery, composed by Vivek Sharma, June 2011, inspired partly by phdcomics!)
1 comment:
Whose rooms these are, I think I know,
They must be asleep in their beds though.
They will not see me stopping here,
To watch their windows cover with snow.
All my lab mates must think it queer,
To stop without a coffee shop near.
Between the shop and the deserted lab,
The scariest evening of the year.
I gave myself a break,
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep,
Of cars slushing and winds across the lake.
I can get to home and try to sleep,
Yet no results, ergo no sleep.
Hence, it would be long before I sleep,
Hence, it would be long before I sleep.
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