From a remote rustic village, wearing bell-bottom pants,
With a hairstyle resembling a sparrow’s nest,
With a slim mustache, darkened with burnt matchsticks-
As was the norm of the late sixties-a day scholar
Stepped into the campus—an introvert, amazed and shy,
Like an alien from another planet, in unfamiliar waters.

There, I met lecturers and professors,

Well-versed and well-reputed in their fields,

Some wearing pants, some wearing mundu.
Among them, I noticed one unique figure 
In full suit with a packet of Charminar and a matchbox;
Even while teaching in class, he smoked cigarettes!

Those teachers, to me, appeared like magicians
Who could turn toads to tigers and pupae to butterflies.
They transformed newcomers into future scientists,
Doctors, eminent politicians, movie actors, and more.
The campus opened little peepholes before us,
Which became gateways to countless opportunities.

We were transformed, as time passed,
From shredded pieces to a collage of art,
From eaglets to full-fledged eagles
Who could soar high above the clouds,
Transformed from earthen pots to vessels of grace,
From basswood to elegant sculptures.

Thanks to all magnates—past, present, and future—
Who continue to strive hard to make SB
A unique and proud campus,
Whose alumni are spread all over the globe.
May God bless all to continue its legacy
And keep it growing for generations to come.