Poetry

Only You

Amongst the notes, she found a poem that, as a folded paper, was tucked inside a notebook. To her surprise, my handwriting looked completely different back then. To my surprise, my writing seemed completely different back then. She thought it was more artistic. I thought it was pretty lame of me to concentrate on rhyming words just for the sake of it. Thinking past our contrasting thoughts, we discovered that the poem had also unfolded with it a flood of memories, none of which were inked on the paper and yet had left their marks…

Ever Neglected. Never Neglected.

The perceptions. Love and geniality.
The drumming, thumping, parading reality.
Despite despair; nothing being new.
That, which comes from within, is but You.

The Name that Wasn’t

No voice, no noise.No reflection of oneself.No definition; none for assumption.I am not myself. Now here, now there.I pity myself.Now this, now that.I am not myself. Neither today nor tomorrow.I can’t portray the inner self.One’s thoughts, another’s actions.I am not myself. Neither from the rainNor from the draught.From where do I thenGlean myself? I am but a nameThat tiny nothingNeither more nor less.I remain myself.© Suyog Ketkar

What Stops Me from Writing?

What Stops Me from Writing?

It is the fear of losing out—
The experience, that is—on the Present
That I sometimes
Stop myself from writing.

However, it is the boon of—
Heart, that is—self-belief
That I reserve as I
Get back to writing.

It is the fear of falling behind—
the dreaded race, that is—monies
That I sometimes
Stop myself from writing.

However, it is resorting to—
Karma, that is—calmness under pressure
That I fall back upon myself and
Get back to writing.

It is the fear of getting lost in—
cluelessness, that is—the abundance of words
That I sometimes
Stop myself from writing.

However, It is the truth of—
Candid confessions, that is—life
That I seek, and thus,
Get back to writing.
© Suyog Ketkar

The Call of the Pen

Pen down, digress not
For you must scribe much more
Than what’s beyond fantasy
Write what’s fathomable in only a lore.

Here’s Monsoon

When the heat burnt souls alive,When the thirst to quenchNothing but physical selvesTurned all choices but naïve,When the harks went unheard-ofAnd everyone began to strive… The boon served us with a downpourThat drenched us with happinessDecorated our windows withInvaluable pearls of joy unspeakable And announced its arrival,Much louder than it announcedThe departure of despair and gloom… Here’s monsoon.©Suyog Ketkar

Be that Faith

Through the watery eyes that flow,
In the smoldering hearts that glow,
Be the faith you wish the world to sustain.

Flipside

Time that once was clueless,
Brought me down on my knees
Time, the all mighty, now
Tells my brave tales, too.

The Soul Purpose

Brought to thee
The stories that have
Countless stories within, the Self knows.
Who knows what’s more?

Smelt the magic of the rains—
The petrichor. Though,
Drenched, lost, drowned is
My conscious, helpless Self, to the core.

The evening strands of gleaming light—
Your fragrance it is, or am I
Afloat the love unbound?
Don’t bother bringing me back ashore.

The chirping of birds.
The rustling of leaves.
Thoughts that come and go.
A rhythmic lore it is, I am sure.

Turned orange, the evenings, again.
Silently mourns my soul.
Wilfully nervous, it tells me.
Could oneness be any pure?
©Suyog Ketkar

Harvest

When the scorching gusts of heat
Fade the tears in your eye,
Recite the songs of the Spring,
Believe that seasons change, ask not why.

When circumstances are bleak,
Your bivouac is left far behind,
Choose what you must—
That let me not remind.

When without the trails
Should You journey barefoot,
Seek sojourns within a companion
In whose heart you could stay put.

When You, and only You,
Represent souls in the strife.
Look within as much as without.
Surely, the only rule of life.

When the days are few
You count each one anew
Amidst the hellish weather that
Destroys your crop that’s but already few.

Remember, always, to stand tall
And present the challenges a full face;
That You are your own harvest:
Be that befitting reply; and the one with grace.
©Suyog Ketkar

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