In the vibrant city of Ibadan, where ancient meets modern in a dance of destiny,
Stands the University of Ibadan, a beacon of knowledge, a legacy of tenacity.
Here, amidst the verdant groves and scholarly echoes, a folio is conceived.
A document of dreams, a ledger of learning, in the heart of UI, it’s believed.
In these hallowed halls of academia, where knowledge reigns supreme,
Lies this tome of truth, a ledger of lore, the students’ silent scream.
It’s not bound in leather, nor etched in stone, yet it seals one’s fate,
A compilation of numbers, a list of names, the Senate’s heavy weight.
They call it the Book of Life, a title both revered and feared,
For within its pages lie the tales of toil, of every test endeared.
It whispers of triumphs, it speaks of woes, of dreams either made or marred,
A record of journeys, of battles fought, in the quest to be starred.
As the session wanes, the air grows thick, anticipation fills the night,
Eyes wide with wonder, hearts aflutter, awaiting their academic plight.
Some faces glow with confidence, their spirits riding high,
Others shroud in shadows, fearing what the Book may imply.
The Book of Life is a mirror clear, reflecting our earnest endeavour,
It may not be flawless, yet it reveals our scholarly treasure.
For some, it’s a beacon, a guidepost to a future bright and sure,
For others, a reminder, of the hurdles we must endure.
So here we stand, at the crossroads of fate, the Book of Life in hand,
It’s not just a document, but a map of where we stand.
Let it not define us, but rather remind us, of the path we’re yet to pave,
For we are more than numbers, more than grades, we are the brave.
And as the final page turns, and the ink begins to dry,
As WPS begins to warn, that the document has come to an end,
We ponder on our passages, with hopeful or tearful eye.
in the boisterous heart of Ibadan, where a race of intellects thrive,
Within the storied walls of UI, where the brightest minds come alive.
The Book of Life closes, its verdicts silently inscribed,
A pause in our journey, a moment, in the annals of Ibadan described – a fraction in time, beheld.
And though this Volume of Destiny now closes, its tale is not yet done,
For like the seasons, it returns anew, with the rise of each year’s sun.
Some departments may escape its gaze, a respite brief and sweet,
But rest assured, other books abound.
The volume shall return again, so let’s prepare to meet.
Buckle up, dear scholars, for the journey is long and rife,
And may the next chapter find you ready, for the presumptuous Book of Life.
So ask yourself, dear reader, as you reflect upon your strife,
In the grand narrative of UI, is thy name inscribed in gold, in the hallowed Book of Life?
Melody Olajide
