Poetry Contest Submission: Limerick


The Unusual Girl

There was once an unusual girl,
With eyes as beautiful as a pearl.
With a magical voice
Stature? Assuming poise.
And hair decorated in a curl.
All she wanted was to sing.
She wished to sway hearts, not earn the bling.
To strike the right accord,
She prayed to the Lord.
This was to be her first starring.
For she was dumb, she opted open genre
She thus began singing an opera.
A few just went numb,
Others were struck dumb.
Witnessing dramas like soap operas.
There she stood, waiting to woo
Voice magical like that of a cuckoo:
She put together words to rhyme —
Like Rosemary and Thyme —
And, others began singing with her, too.

©Suyog Ketkar
November, 2021
#Limerick #Poetry #poetrycontest #FigureofSpeech #padhnelikhnewale


Here is a screenshot of the rules:

I am thankful to the organizers, jury, and participants. Had they not posed a challenge, I would not have tested the limits of my creativity.

I am not sure what I might have missed or if I could even make it better. But, it was my first attempt at writing a Limerick. Yet, it pleasantly surprised me that it came to me in less than 15 minutes. I’ve realized, so long as efforts are genuine, the time investment doesn’t matter.

This contest has inspired me to write more. I will continue to participate in such contests and hope that each one will be a unique learning experience.

Micropoetry: Fair and Simple

Neither more nor less.
Learning, reading at this pace.
Once in a while, rest.

©Suyog Ketkar
November, 2021

#micropoetry #haiku

After reading twenty four books in 2021, and completing the reading target I had set for myself, I’ve realised that I could skim a lot of time for myself. Considering the long list of things that I (rather we) must do, along with office work, it is a big achievement. I haven’t still surpassed my last-year’s record, where I had read 29 books. But, now that I have some time, I wish to complete one more book. Here’s what I have learnt about myself:

  • Reading a lot and reading and contemplating are two different things.
  • So long as you write, you can give your reading some rest — assuming you have other equally daunting tasks/responsibilities.
  • Take out time to enjoy. Slow down once in a while. Rest. It is important for us to have peace of mind, not pieces of mind.

This micrpoetry is another impromptu creation that happened to me in less than a minute. God knows how, even the syllables are in the order of 5-7-5, placed suitably for a Haiku. Maybe I’ve hit a rhythm. Big word — rhythm. But, that’s a topic for some other time.

Right now, I wish to slow down a little.

Peace. 🙂

The Folklore of Settling the Score

Crumpled papers
Yet again blurt this lore.
Akin to the silent lips
That confess the days of yore.

Fragments of paragraphs
Yet again rise from ashes to roar.
Akin to the shards of the glass
That once kept her thirsty for more.

Stories of the unknown
Yet again begin to pore.
Akin to some deepest secret
That once lay riddled fore.

Shreds of torn ships
Yet again sweep ashore.
Akin to Sailor’s ambitions
That sailed across the seafloor.

Wings of dreams, but be sure
Yet again will soar.
Akin to life’s own way, it is,
Strangely just ‘settling the score.’

©Suyog Ketkar
October, 2021

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

Show me the Way

When the dark skies of uncertainty
Don’t let the light gleam through.
And it’s impossible to see, decipher
In the absence of any hope-resembling ray.
I, with folded hands and eyes tightly shut,
Shall look up to you and thus begin to pray.

It is that time again.
I must choose.
That time to commit — Yay or nay!
Believe in belief.
Tread towards my true north
Amidst walloping winds that are at play.

I must go the extra mile:
Beyond my boundary.
Accomplish the impossible,
for that’s how I’ll make a merry.
Then I churn into gold what’s my stack of hay.
You lent me the idea. Now enlighten my way.

©Suyog Ketkar
September, 2021

Thirst for Words

Worst for the words,
It appears to me,
Is for them to cease to exist.
Pressing as your heart ever may.

Worst, indeed, for the words,
It is, you must know, for they
Will no longer turn into gold
That once was hay.

Worst, yes, for the words,
It is, you discover, that they
Will not unearth—never anymore—
Buried thoughts that lay.

Worst, surely, for the words
It is, I confess, that they occasionally
Witness the dry beds that once
Flew hundreds of gallons away.

Trust, but I must, in the same words,
For it is at their own fancy that
I awoke, avowed, and will ever await.
Never leave me, I ask. Stay.

Trust, I will, in those words,
For it is their humble selves that
I will reach where I’ve yearned to go
As the words will pave my way.

Trust, surely I will, in those words,
For when they will bless me,
They will have me drenched, and
Quench my thirst for the day.

©Suyog Ketkar
July, 2021

Tourists

It was at the first light of life
That they took the baby step.
And continued to walk along
Even as they slept.

Still bright and breezy
Were they at the wee hours.
Trudged through while
Still learning their powers.

Amidst the blossoming yellow
Bathed, fed the fellows!
Then around the noon
Their lives began to bloom.

Their gaily souls traced the trails.
Still young at hearts, very hale.
The afternoon arrived, though pale,
Blessed with occasional bursts of the gale.

Until evening, their routine was set.
Along with pleasure, closures were met.
Truths were told. Masks had fallen.
Even the hardest had begun to soften.

Wearied souls came upon a bridge.
Living each episode unabridged.
Twilights coated with burnt orange.
Forgiveness tasted sweeter than revenge.

The night, it seemed, soon fell.
Such that no one could foretell.
It was time to pack the bags—
It was time to bid farewell.

The tourists then made the choice
For how long were they to dwell?
Death then enrobed those
Who had managed to quell.

The tourists then sojourned the bright tunnel.
They seemed to cope. And well.
What lay beyond that comfort, now
How were they to tell?

©Suyog Ketkar
June, 2021

Inner Voice

I said, “I listen to you every time 
Yet you sound anew on each occasion.”
“Someday, I’d sit back and listen to you,” it said.
Or, perhaps, it was my assumption.

Ever since I’ve yearned for
That participating audience.
With whom I can discuss
All problems and their solutions.

The wait, how I wish, to soon be over.
The wait, which has been rather long and clever.
I can hardly wait. Actually, no longer.
Here I am to you, my muse; in full submission.

Be my thoughts, words, and voice.
Lend me the pleasure.
Here I am to speak and to listen.
Give me thy affirmation.

©Suyog Ketkar
Composed in March, 2021

Just the Way of Life

From when the life sprouted
When coziness wrapped its fingers around yours
And opened your vision to its ‘me-ness’,
It is what it is.

From when mistakes could be erased
When errors didn’t scar us for ever
And the time was full,
It is what it is.

From when ignorance was blissful
When choices still weren’t that costly
And confessing to all piffle cames effortlessly,
It is what it is.

Until when thee acknowledges
When the build-up will reach its zenith
And celebrate the short-lived festivities.
It is what it is.

Until when days pass slowly,
When the fall arrives,
And leaves carpet trails of thee,
It will be what it must—the way of life.

©Suyog Ketkar

That’s Who I Am

Of all that I did that day,
Were things rather in plenty.
Breaking with the dawn, for once
Had I had this idea, if any…

Where my vigilant brain had caught this
Wonderful signal through my mental antennae,
And, the day had arrived where
I could turn stories into pure honey.

“Do not confine,” I’d told myself,
“If you ever must reach the uncanny.”
“You can visualize anything,” I said
“Without stepping into the mahogany.”

This was some strange business.
Or wasn’t it? For it was quite funny.
Limitless thoughts, I wondered how—
Could fit within those little crannies!

Thoughts led to thoughts,
And words popped too many.
Stories after stories, I played
Characters after characters, aplenty.

In some, I was a teacher,
In the others, I studied botany.
In some, I was a preacher,
I the others, I was involved in a felony.

Just as you have companions, my friend,
I have stories to keep me company.
The cat has only nine lives, remember.
As a writer, I realized, I’ve rather one too many.

©Suyog Ketkar