‘A Placement Drive’ or ‘Crompton Grievances’

Rattle rattle rattle.
Hustle hustle hustle.

In groups they sit,
Converse of fate that is writ.

Many a faces sweat,
As with chances they bet.

A lot of things to remember,
All that was heard from January to December.

Boys, them all sit tight,
For spoil the crease of the shirt, they might.

A few laugh, the others smile,
All eager to walk the mile.

On the door all eyes focus,
With thoughts, ‘how they mock us.’

A few bitten nails they spit,
Wondering how well they fit.

In their strengths they place their hopes,
When they walk the ropes.

Some go to the end,
Others are in between sent.

The first in ecstasy the hop.
The latter ponder over yet another flop.

Amidst the drama, I write this ode,
Of the ride they rode.