First Motar Shot, and On going

Four seasons had passed
Since the day I left home encrusted
Feelings of which are hard to find
Written in three coloured proses lines
There I pen my blood in tears
One pushing joy
One pulling fear

Eight scripts, hexa-tens I have back
Looks like a winning strike
But in marginal plight
Inked merely hepty three

Annum ahead had just begun
Must ready myself with arms
To tackle furry milk
My arcane on silk
-- 13/7/04

Commentary: Wrote this poem at the end of my 3rd year undergraduate before I go into honours year. It was a tough year and a difficult time as I did not do well for my first semester of my 3rd year; hence, pulled down my overall grades to merely a 3rd class honours. It was an uphill battle for my honours project and I need to do very well to get into graduate studies.