"Between the First Bell and the Last Goodbye",poem by Haseena Ahmed Jabri, B.Sc FSCCA III year.

Between the First Bell and the Last Goodbye.

the first year,

college smells like fresh notebooks

and unopened possibilities.

Corridors echo with laughter,

friendships are formed over borrowed pens

and shared curiosity.

Eyes sparkle with ambition,

hands reach for everything at once—

clubs, debates, libraries, late-night talks,

dreams scribbled in the margins of timetables.

Life feels wide, forgiving,

as if time has agreed to wait.

Then comes the second year.

The excitement settles,

replaced by weight.

Syllabi grow thicker,

expectations louder.

Marks begin to matter more than curiosity,

grades whisper judgments,

and comparisons creep into conversations.

Sleepless nights become routine,

smiles turn practiced,

and stress sits quietly in the chest.

Some days feel heavy without reason,

and ambition begins to feel like pressure.

Learning continues—

but now with exhaustion,

and silent battles no one talks about.

Final year arrives without warning.

Suddenly, time runs faster.

There are entrance exams to conquer,

resumes to perfect,

conferences to attend,

workshops that promise direction.

Minor projects demand major effort,

certification courses stretch already tired days.

Coffee replaces sleep,

discipline replaces comfort.

Every step feels urgent,

every decision permanent.

Yet beneath the tension,

something strong is forming—

resilience.

The courage to keep going,

the belief that effort will become opportunity.

And somewhere between deadlines and dreams,

the student becomes a professional,

the learner becomes a seeker,

and college life—

with all its chaos and growth—

quietly shapes a future

worth all the struggle.

"Love at First Sight", a Spoken poem by Arundhati Udhari 

Love at First Sight — Spoken Word for Parents.

They say love at first sight

Is just a story.

But tell me—

What do you call it

When a child enters the world

And becomes everything

In a single second?

I was placed into their hands,

Hands still trembling from pain,

Yet holding me like

Nothing more precious had ever existed.

Their suffering didn’t disappear—

It transformed.

Pain turned into purpose.

Tears turned into strength.

Their eyes met mine—

No questions.

No conditions.

Just love,

Pure and overflowing.

No expectations followed me into life.

No dreams were forced onto my future.

Only a promise, unspoken but eternal:

We will walk beside you.

This—

This is love at first sight.

Not the kind that fades with time,

But the kind that begins it.

So this is for every parent

Who loves before asking,

Who gives without counting,

Who turns their pain

Into a child’s safe world.

Your love is the first miracle

We ever know.

"WHO DECIDES HEAVEN?" By Aastha Mishra BSc. ZCFS , II year

 

Credits: Pinterest 

We arrive in tears we didn’t earn,

tiny lungs, borrowed hope,

soft hands holding us like we already mattered.

A father’s heaven might be his children laughing,

warm bread, tired evenings, a world gentle again.

A brother’s heaven could be promising his sister

she won’t break alone,

and a grandfather’s heaven might simply be

one more day to see the people he raised breathing.

So who decides heaven?

A priest with practiced comfort?

A poet who never held death in their palms?

Or the quiet wishes born in ordinary rooms,

never holy, but painfully real?

Then we go.

No warning, no curtain call,

just an empty chair, a toothbrush untouched,

and a door that stays unlocked,

as if hope refuses to learn the truth.

They say, “Heaven gained an angel.”

But if heaven takes one soul to ease its loneliness,

and leaves another soul gasping on the bedroom floor,

is that paradise, or cruelty dressed in wings?

Maybe heaven is earned peace for the one who goes,

and hell is carved into the chest

of the one left behind.

Because what is heaven to the gone

is abandonment to the grieving.

Maybe the truth is darker than comfort can bear:

heaven isn’t a promise above,

it’s a memory below,

and hell is simply living in the space

where they used to stand.