By Venkatesh Raghavan
An ode to students crying abroad
They need to tread on alien lands,
Feel the crunch for lack of brands,
To feed minds in an Indian home,
Pricing makes them fly and roam;
With not a shred of scant shelter,
For safe lives flung helter-skelter,
Money is no more at a premium,
No leaders and men on podium;
They get the feeling of anguish,
As shelling mounts for a finish,
Money and love loses meaning,
While risk to life hits the ceiling;
When does the next meal come,
How many hours will it be from,
To the safe road for being gone,
Lest the remains be a tombstone;
Feeling lost in maze and rubble,
Knowing nothing of the trouble,
That lies in wait, dusk or dawn,
Akin to a soldier dying as pawn.
