At midnight twelve,

My mom starts to yell,

“Will you close your lap?

Or should I throw that away?”

Ah! How will she know?

The guilt of passing deadlines

And the mountains of work due

The edits from the publisher

And comments from the editor

Suggestions from the teacher

And recommendations from the manager

Ah! How will she know?

The pressure of current and coming meets

Of presentations and silent debates

With hours of boring lectures

And days of endless assignments

Weeks of writing manuscripts

And months of tireless editing

And comes a day

A day of acceptance

Or a gesture

Of cold rejection

Alas! For her,

Her world is me

From the cup of tea

That slips from my hand

To the fear of ghosts

That lurks near my bed at night

I’m still a baby

The baby of my mom

And her yells

Are a melody

A melody sweeter than the unheard!

~ Adwaith PB

Delhi, India