The Poor Truth

The empty caverns of little stomach
Echoed through the moans.
Gratification could be sought with food,
She has learnt, not with expensive loans.

The burdened shoulders couldn’t slouch further
They were forced into a truce.
She had a younger brother to feed
Only that much was her poor, little truth.

The journalist, too, paid her heavily
After all, she didn’t speak for free.
The agonizing, bitter truth, he too must learn
Is as rewarding as the stuff on page 3.

A meal was thus secured
Despite her inner turmoil.
That night she’d brought
Hot food, packed in a tin foil.

©Suyog Ketkar
September, 2021

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Suyog Ketkar

He is a certified technical communicator. He believes that writing continues to be an easy-to-do-but-difficult-to-master job. In his work time, he proudly dons the “enabler” cape. In his non-work time, he dons many hats including one of a super-busy father.

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