Our sparse Class of Nineteen Seventy Seven
By Syed Muhammad Mehdi Mohsin
The following verses strive to commemorate the scholarly yet sporty Aitchison College Class of SC '77 with hopes for happiness plus prayers for peace and prosperity in service of our kin, colleagues and country. May serving others, and standing by each other, be our collective calling-card in perpetuity:
With friendships forged since senior eleven
'Tho' many from a much earlier era too
Spawned circa kinders one and two
While some of our brothers were boarders
Who caught on quick not to be hoarders
Teaching us day boys too how to share
By instilling that rare quality to care
These were some life lessons learnt
And our spurs with a little effort earnt
Yes, in this instance boys too were teachers
Although no different to us, callow creatures
A fine family over several seasons thus made
Indeed a great gift by God's grace for each grade
Endowed with mind and muscle in equal measure
To be our treasure in both labour and leisure
We had champions we could pitch on the playing field
And with SC 6 and 7s, cerebral victories we sealed
Taught by titans once we tirelessly were
Who can still set our hearts astir
Even without them anymore at the helm
Their reign is undimmed over our inner realm
Pray, tell, where would we, blessed boys, be?
Sans our Sirs, would our spirits still soar free?
Abetting ethical and intellectual inquiry
Backed by firm faith and a tempo fiery
Like working with putty on unfinished souls
Priming personalities and refining our roles
With pain and passion they us groomed
To face challenges that ominously loomed
Yes, they masterfully minted men out of us
Now we know for what was all that fuss
Both in the classroom and on the green
To play the game with a camaraderie keen
Shaped by chivalry not rivalry in all ventures
By shunning the lure of moral misadventures
Cultivating character above all
To stand tall each time we fall
Madams of junior school did their duty too
From whom we received rules of etiquette true
We were mentored to make our mark on this world
While flying the flag that our elders unfurled
Over the years our ranks have thinned
Counting comrades at whom the grim reaper has grinned
For with sorrow we see some are no more
Yet by the selfsame we still set store
And even if our numbers are by death depleted
We won't let their vital voices be defeated
Honouring hence our dear companions departed
As if we never forever from them parted
So to them we say, "Tarry awhile until we again meet"
But, alas, not before our task here is complete
And whether or not we all walk into heaven
We'll always be that class of seventy seven