"Iambic Requiem"

Dear Will, You didn’t just write plays, You detonated timebombs in our syllabus. Your quills weren’t feathers, They were chaos in iambic rhythms. We fell for dead princes And witches with midterm curses. You served soliloquies as survival guides, And called our breakdowns—"comic relief." I wept with Ophelia, Cheated death with Caesar, And danced with Puck on ruined assignments. You made me romanticize guilt and insanity, Lady Macbeth’s “Out, damn spot!” echoes in my GPA. You’re the reason we quote tragedies in love letters, And write essays bleeding metaphors like Brutus’s loyalty. Now, as I stare at a blank script, You whisper, “The rest is silence.” So, this April 23rd, I won’t just wish Happy Birthday— I’ll light a candle for every student Still deciphering your divine disasters. With tears, awe, and caffeine— Your unwilling understudy, English Honours Batch of Broken Dreams. ---