This poem is written by Clarissa D’Lima (BA. LLB. Class of 2021)
Words are my game, seldom fashioned to suit the ear, but each fashion has it appeal
In times informal a faffer I am, but formalities get me faff-ing through
At the eleventh hour I shape my phrases like a potter at his wheel
Ride on my words and you’ll become a part of the crew.
Narrating my late night woes my friends I have often allured
But different is the scene when I speak before the blessed
I see them with questions ready to rip through my verses like a sword,
Now my wits I have put to test, my brains squeezed and pressed.
The one on the chair has evoked the sly tone with critical counters ready
While I sew the patches to of my failing memory to make a blanket warm
And comfort my thoughts which are freezing by her gaze steady.
Then struck by the truth I realize I am not just any Harry, Dick or Tom
I stand to tell about my skill of paraphrase, my skill to bend things to suit my way
I faff along till my oration has been delivered fine
Till on my evaluator’s doubts I have given my say
Ending another viva voce with words in reality I cannot yet define.