The ‘S’ Word

If stress were a colour

What would it be?

One should think black, or red,

Or the colour of me.

Me. Myself.

I am consumed by this ‘stress’

As that fatal time is looming

Of academic contest.

It swallows me whole

Then forgets to spit me out;

Apparently it makes me rhyme,

It makes me scream. It makes me shout.

Every grown-up has said

“These are the best years of your life”.

They seem to think

I’ll take these exams in my strife.

But I’m drowning in viscous

Black, red, and blue.

Purple. Yellow. Green.

Orange, too.

The thing is, you see,

It can’t just be one.

Stress is in everything

And now there’s nothing to be done.


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