Project Cheeni

This was a poem about my ex-gf, which took it’s shape when we were kinda just friends some long long long time ago. The scenenario involves and revolves around a class test and the subject being FCPIT. Since she had to travel daily from her home to the college (I think it was some 20km maybe). She was late that day. Late enough to change the monotonous meto a different me. And as you let yourself flow with the rhymes, you’ll realise what made that day somewhat special for me to ponder and wonder about even after a few days it occured. Read to help yourself find that out.

You came in late,
20 mins to be exact.
Your excuse being frape,
but your focus was intact.
which is the reason why,
the teacher excused you,
giving only 20 mins to you to try,
a test, crackable by only a few.
You were alloted a seat,
I recalled being on the 2nd bench,
to  give a shot to complete,
the test, which even for me was out of reach.
After writing our respective shit,
into our respective answer sheets,
it was time to get rid of it,
by collecting and giving away that sheet’s heap.
Then came the EME lecture,
for which we had to migrate to another class,
yet again as I expected it to be torture,
which later became a helpful timepass.
I was sitting parallel to you,
until you called me again.
To which I hiked to sit right behind you,
behind the girl, with the most brains…
You wore your big anti-cheeni glasses,
as the lecture started.
Sorry I ain’t got no rhyme for those f*ckin glasses.
But I wish I had a word to describe ’em.                    // d*ck-biscuits
There was a  gap of a bench between us,
but alas! That was the first time I gazed,
at the hair of a cheeni princess.
And surely with the beauty was I amazed.
That was when I decided,
to grab hold your hair atleast once,                           //big mistake -_-
though later despite holdin ’em, I pulled ’em.             // 😀 😀 😀
And that too surely not for just once….                      // 😛 😛
Aaah! Recalling somethin from the past,
and writing a rhyme about it till the last,
and that too while sitting next to that girl,
around whom the topic of rhyme whirls and twirls,
is really a touh job.
‘Coz its a tough job,
to write n talk,
about the same topic simultaneously…

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