September arrived,
Bringing comrades back to campus,
Alongside fresh-faced freshmen,
Direct from distant villages,
Unfamiliar with campus ways.
Orientation unveiled the grounds,
Mapping out each hall and corner,
Yet one ritual remained unspoken:
The cleansing of hostel rooms.
Not found in freshman manuals,
Nor penned in association bylaws,
Never mentioned aloud,
But known to seasoned students and parents alike.
Eager freshmen claimed their rooms,
Swept floors and arranged their lives,
But forgot the sacred cleansing,
Leaving unseen doors ajar.
Two weeks slipped under autumn skies,
Then restless spirits made their return.
Absent since the last semester's end,
They found rooms clean but unpurified,
And began to haunt the unknowing souls.
Rooms meant for sleeping,
Became brothels.
