You say that I am half-baked yet you gladly watch as I waste several
months at home, year in year out, due to countless and meaningless
strikes. And when we are finally back in session I am bombarded on every
side, so much that I feel my head spin with confusion, a 12-weeks
semester is automatically shrunk to 6 weeks, and who is left to bear the
brunt? Me! Yet you accuse me that I am half-baked, wanting me to feel
guilty for my state, to cover my face in shame for a crime that is not
mine. You stab me with your words like sharp arrows, making me feel like
I am inferior to my peers all around the world yet you are the one
responsible for what I have become.
You accuse me of being half-baked yet I have no simple thermometer in my lab, the best I know of it I learnt from the pages of my textbook. You say that I am half-baked; have you seen the microscope in our lab? It was purchased twenty years ago, some of its knobs are already out and hardly can you use it to focus on a specimen. One mouse is to thirty students, yet you say I am half-baked. You direct your abuses at me like I am the one to blame; you say I have chosen not to read, have you given me the books? You say I have failed, how much have you done to help me pass?
You accuse me of being half-baked yet my lecturers read out notes to me that they compose ten years ago, and had since been reading to students every year without any modification. They act with impunity because there is no one to caution them, no one to ask questions. I am left at their mercy, so they request inducement, tactfully or openly, so I can pass my exams. They withhold my result so they can behold my pretty face in private and share with me their lustful illicit intents; in my hands are two things: my dignity and my success, I am left to choose one and forgo the other. Yet you still say to me that I am half-baked.
You claim that I am half-baked, yet three of my elder brothers and two of my sisters are languishing at home after years of hard schooling; they have no jobs and still no hope. What motivation gladdens my heart? What do I have to look up to? Those who were ahead studied real hard still…nothing, and yet you finger me as someone with no seriousness, that I have no drive nor burn with a fire to learn…those pudgy fingers are most rightly directed at you, for whatever attitude I display is as a result of your failures.
You accuse me of being half-baked and that I am unemployable, what have you done for my school? Oh! Pardon my forgetfulness, your wards do not go to the same schools that I do so you have never had any moral obligation to do much good for it. You couldn’t care less if I study without seats to sit, or if I have to do my lab practical under trees, as long your issues are in the best ivy league schools you are fine, yet you still turn around accuse me of being half-baked, when you are the one directly controlling the oven. You have turned down the heat so low it has become of no effect, no usefulness to my overall development. Your words place a load on me like Atlas, threatening to crush me to the very earth. You are responsible for what I have become yet you push the blame to me like I am the culprit.
To everyone who is, or was once, in the position to do something good but yet withheld their hands from doing it: The evil that you have cheerfully done will one day come around and hunt you. You think those children of yours have become successful, you just wait and see. There is no refuge from the evil that men do, the spirits of our foolish deeds will continually haunt regardless of how far we run.
You accuse me of being half-baked yet I have no simple thermometer in my lab, the best I know of it I learnt from the pages of my textbook. You say that I am half-baked; have you seen the microscope in our lab? It was purchased twenty years ago, some of its knobs are already out and hardly can you use it to focus on a specimen. One mouse is to thirty students, yet you say I am half-baked. You direct your abuses at me like I am the one to blame; you say I have chosen not to read, have you given me the books? You say I have failed, how much have you done to help me pass?
You accuse me of being half-baked yet my lecturers read out notes to me that they compose ten years ago, and had since been reading to students every year without any modification. They act with impunity because there is no one to caution them, no one to ask questions. I am left at their mercy, so they request inducement, tactfully or openly, so I can pass my exams. They withhold my result so they can behold my pretty face in private and share with me their lustful illicit intents; in my hands are two things: my dignity and my success, I am left to choose one and forgo the other. Yet you still say to me that I am half-baked.
You claim that I am half-baked, yet three of my elder brothers and two of my sisters are languishing at home after years of hard schooling; they have no jobs and still no hope. What motivation gladdens my heart? What do I have to look up to? Those who were ahead studied real hard still…nothing, and yet you finger me as someone with no seriousness, that I have no drive nor burn with a fire to learn…those pudgy fingers are most rightly directed at you, for whatever attitude I display is as a result of your failures.
You accuse me of being half-baked and that I am unemployable, what have you done for my school? Oh! Pardon my forgetfulness, your wards do not go to the same schools that I do so you have never had any moral obligation to do much good for it. You couldn’t care less if I study without seats to sit, or if I have to do my lab practical under trees, as long your issues are in the best ivy league schools you are fine, yet you still turn around accuse me of being half-baked, when you are the one directly controlling the oven. You have turned down the heat so low it has become of no effect, no usefulness to my overall development. Your words place a load on me like Atlas, threatening to crush me to the very earth. You are responsible for what I have become yet you push the blame to me like I am the culprit.
To everyone who is, or was once, in the position to do something good but yet withheld their hands from doing it: The evil that you have cheerfully done will one day come around and hunt you. You think those children of yours have become successful, you just wait and see. There is no refuge from the evil that men do, the spirits of our foolish deeds will continually haunt regardless of how far we run.
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