Result of Poetry Competition 8th Edition
Category: English

Title: The end to my story

The very first day of my college and can not I forget it for eternity.

Where many only aggrandized those who dwelled opulently,

and abominated those who could not vaunt any silk-stocking property,

where everyone's garb, their personality,

smelt of perfection, as if possible only artificially

and the bag that a boy was carrying, that read Gucci,

made me undergo scrutiny,

of my broken backpack strap that as if, asked me,

"Had a blobfish blotted the beauty of the sea?" 


In such hour, I found somebody.

I found her. When underconfidence wrecked me,

her eyes, piercing in mine, read what I could not declare any loudly.

She lent me her hands for comraderie.

At this exact moment, I met humanity.

Her possession of altruism and benignity,

made me fall in fathomless love with her instantly, unequivocally. 


Life is as beautiful as it can be,

Her 'yes' to my proposal for being with me all the perpetuity;

In the place of noise-my heart, was a source of extreme serenity. 


A woman always offering only life to anybody,

Today, to keep her heart beating, requires unnatural means, incessantly.

Her very pale face yet reflects beauty.

But, seeing her hurting, my eyes get teary.

I ask god why doesn't he cease a body instantaneously,

but makes experience perishability

for seconds that seem like excruciating infinity.

But, god knows what best could be. 


My son, when you read this, I don't want you to feel incomplete but contentful proudly.

For a promise was made by me,

That she, would be the beginning, as well as the end to my story. 


Only demanding tranquility,

I now rest my head on her knee.


Iqra Parkar

Poet's Instagram:


As the Sun descends in leaden steps, making way for the argent orb at dusk,

“Pray tarry, do not evanesce yet,” entreats the Moon,

“Why do you leave me desolate every night, my friend?”

“I darken, so you can shine bright,” replies the Sun

“Isn’t yielding a nom de plume of comradeship?”


The bald, craggy mount stands tall against the plasma-blue vault

A silent sentinel ­­– friendless, forever seeking comfort and kinship.

Puffs of wispy, cottony clouds traipse through the celestial boulevard

To find their moorings atop the solitary sierra.

And when the lacy sky-puddles seal their ardour with a fervent kiss,

Cupid shoots His amorous dart, showering torrents of blessed rain.

Drenched in the deluge, redeemed in love, awash with emotion,

The rugged precipice coyly unveils its lush, viridian tapestry.


Miles of glistening grains of gold – warmed by the sun, kissed by the sea

The buoyant waves wash ashore gifts of driftwood, seaweed, shells and shingle,

The briny water and the velvety sand – unite and sunder apart in a timeless consonance

Birthing ripples of hope and waves of beatitude in restive mortal souls.


A fortuitous touch, a furtive glance, a silent avowal, an unsung melody

Reconciled to rupture, celebrating union, embracing foible,

The heart weaves philia in ways unbeknownst to the head.


Urmi Chakravorty

Top 10 Poets (inclusive of winners)



All of us have got a skeleton in the closet

Which remains hidden.

All the unavowed talks,

What we call as secrets. 


The notion still rests as fallacy.

Since, nothing abides to being in dark.

Mysteries extant under limelight of curiosity

A menace about to embark. 


Every corner of my house,

Having dekko at my secrets.

Those piled up in the closet,

Once unlatched ready to spill all over the place.


Walls and roof, do you pay attention,

to the vehemence of mine?

Varying sentiments pervading my sanity

Yet me acting fine.


I wonder the extend of your knowledge!

The times you witnessed me collapse

I wonder the times you were my alibi!

The times, when I watched the days elapse.


The corners of my bedroom,

have your ever heard my mute feelings?

Those implicit emotions lingering

With the affection blamed to be unappealing.


Did you ever peeked through your alcove,

To see the world turning me into undesirable person?

Those overwhelming thoughts of love

Drowning in the fondness of a solitary person.


When I sit with my people,

Where the in-jokes are thrown like dirk.

Then, did the sound waves from my chortles,

Ever resonated through your framework?


The corners of my powder room

Have you ever caught the glimpse of my naked truth?

The scars prevalent on my soma..

Same, forcing me to veil my youth.


Will you still be inclined to engulf me in your aura?

At my smiling face, will you still light up with a glee?

Tell me, my corners of home..

Do you vow to keep my secrets safe till the doom gloams?

Poet: Lalan Chaudhari



One day I came back
to a waiting sun-bathed backyard,
crowded with untamed bluebells
and dwarf daisies,
shrouded with the fragnance of summerskies in May,
with my mother, reclined at the bottom
of the only Mango tree we called ours,
reading the only English book she owned from her A-for-Apple-days.

I asked what she was reading.

She said it was a poem about
'Rainy days and Sunny days',
and smiled so dearly as if it wasn't just the day before that I saw her weeping on father's shoulder when they sneaked out to the verandah for their little midnight tea-party.

That was her afternoon reading spot from then on.

The tree had a rubber-swing
that my father put up
the day I turned 4.

Summers were spent devouring the yellow-orange delicacies.
Monsoons were spent in longing to see it flower once again.
Autumns were spent in collecting the golden-auburn leaves.
Winters were spent swinging under the umbrella of the warm lush leaves.
Springs were spent idling away under the tanned branches, that ideally matched my skintone.

The day I turned eighteen,
the backyard mirrored the moonlit Eden at night.

Standing with an ivory daisy in my hand,
I did not notice my mother behind.

She simply watched,
as I whispered to the tree, 'You've been the lucky one to slumber to the cradle poems I never got to hear.'

And tip-toed towards the mango tree that grew out of my brother's grave,
and placed the flower among the wild florets surrounding its trunk.

A leaf fell beside the flower.

The moon faded a little.

Mother stood. 

Poet: Ratnadipa Biswas.

Title: Invocation

( prayer of lord shiva)


Thy, fierce perusal of eyes incinerated wicked antagonist,

thou, sea of compassion, holder of trident, everything is under thy closet .

Thou! Castigated wicked who lures and begets sins, and terminates the fallacy,

thou art perennial, effaces frayed corpses and blow it with new life and destroy erroneous character within soul. 

Oh! God of Gods , mine soul perched upon the infinite tree which engulfs with fruits of work,

 mine ,cold and pale heart wants emancipation,  rue should  not left again .

Cut the branch of world and kindle my soul with thy love for the sake of mine glee,

deep scrutiny meant nothing as for thy

everyone have lovely life .

And here I behold the sky which is like sapphire,where also still life extant with thy blessing,

and here I behold elements  who is like soul's attire and heart throbbed with no immodest desire.

Alas, voice of thunder declares thy arrival, the thunderstorm is devoid of pain, 

scorching Sun envisages my departure, with this menace adhered with soul vanished within tranquility .

O colossal heart ! Tiny desire,  try again and elicte all secertes as now,

old clothe reeks , i need new attire ,

i embrace you with my soul which is blanched now.

As zillion of blessing are coming with thunderstorm and mirth is revamped,

the small cascade which flows from thy hair actually consists exquisite fishes with plume,

 which touches and make pious the air.

This dulcet scene overwhelmed my heart, oh Mahakal thy appearance is loomed large,

your devotee  kneeled and bow and hands get trembled,

as thy aura vanished the negative light and desolation,

what enigmatic secret buried inside you,

As thy soul descends in my soul and maketh it evance .

Poet: Vedant Singh Thakur


No suffering hell on earthly joys,

And losing life’s mirth;

Breathing fire and brimstone,

Fiendish tortures unkindly atone.


Others sufferings be not our pleasures,

That’s the real measures;  

Scanning into others woes,

Be our joys.


Take one-self a glance in the mirror,

Not to blame only others for error;

Militants- the great terror,

Save the society from horror.


The happiness be lasting long,

Else fighting cocks singing song;

The pleasures short lived,

For this drated dissatisfied sighed.

Poet: Virendra Kashyap

Title: An Edifying Walk..


When once my heart's foyer blurted a thought to tread on, on an untrodden path,

I relinquished the heft and yoke of my ongoing life for a while,

And decided to visit the living votary of death-the ignored graveyard,

Then a melange and miscellany of my flaming emotions stood solemn and sombre.


A beguiling evening ambience graced my journey...

And a plethora of substantial aphorisms kept on buffeting me..

My destination seemed no farther away, and my decrepit eyes caught a glimpse of that yonder frayed threshold..

Which simply divides the living-yard and the graveyard..


I entered the mortal's final place with sobriety.

A languid algor engulfed my frail foresight

and quivered my sanity,

An ineffable aura chaperoned me and ferried me into a rumination of transience...

And all I could glimpse were the ruins of  emblazoned glories and decadence.


Bequeathed to dust, their tombstones stand erect,

Forlorn of facile grandeur, the graves seem bereft..

Here where art thou-the meretricious epergne of amusement and stored affluence!?

Thus, everything around seemed overwhelmed by the cold command of death with much obeisance.


As I surveyed, amidst the rustle of leaves,

A trail beckoned me forth,

Until it led me to a grave unknown..

Then, after a brief moment of reflection,

I was struck by a flashback to a time when I had visited this very graveyard on the death of my beloved grandfather.


Tears cascaded down my eyes as his memories pummelled my frothed emotions.

Amongst those incalculable graves, lies one of my beloved grandfather, slumbering into unceremonious oblivion.

With silence deafening, I departed from there with a muted heart,

Thus that day I had an edifying walk....

Poet: Mohammed Mukarram Shaikh. 


Bong! Bong! Bong!

Sound the temple bells,

Unified chants, loud, and rhythmic

Hail the Lord God.

Milky white, protein- rich liquid

Pours over the shiny black stone,

Augmenting positivity.

Heads bowed in reverence

All eyes upon the black deity

Watching from his mountain abode.

Yet no eyes see the mother

Dressed in rags, a baby at her waist

Struggling to catch the white fluid

Before it moistens the hot earth.


Clang, clang, clangour,

The sound increases with every tread.

The brilliant, yellow pile of metal

An inducement for forgiveness,

Grows larger by the day,

Passionate, quick attempts

To look into those powerful eyes

As He watches from his throne.

Yet no eyes fall upon

The wretched, starving, half- clad beings,

Ogling the precious metal, a means

To alter their penurious lives.


Trees stand stripped of their décor,

Oodles of brightly coloured flowers

Lie at the feet of the Gods each day.

Withered they lie, soggy and limp,

Emitting offensive odours,

Poisoning the air throughout.

Nature’s beauty gone to waste.


Above the chaotic din I hear,

A voice within my mind,

“God needs no offerings,” it says.

“Most contented is He

With thanksgivings and earnest prayers.”


Title: Nuptial Poem for Cheche

I am here invoking Lord Hymen!

Hail to Hymen! Praise Hymen!

HE is the reason for the world to advance;

not giving destruction a chance.

HE ties two extremes together, 

who fight, cry, laugh and love forever. 


Marriage MAY appear like an incredible palace in Paradise;

Garnished with immortal flowers, murmuring bells and sparkling lights.

Those enigmatic statues and breathtaking colossal dome;

Might be guarded by a mythical gnome.

The tranquil river abutting it; hums a miraculous melody;

which urges a man to abandon his celibacy.


Hail to Juno!

Noble God Juno,

In reality,  marriage is an immortal Rose,

embrace its thorn- i.e., the flaws.

Its delicate petals are the delights to be relished greatly, 

simply follow its aroma which leads you to eternity. 


Noble Gods Juno and Hymen,

My brother's wedding is dropping in,

He is ready to exchange his vows,

and become his beloved's spouse. 

Let them taste all the emotions of the soul,

Live their life to the whole.


My dear brother,

You now belong to her.

At times, life may appear like a serene white dove;

enjoy that moment's overpouring love.

Occasionally, life may transform into a rough sea,

also welcome it with glee.


Majestic Juno, Hymen and shiv Parvati cover the sky, 

with zillion blessings for their lifelong tie.

May the bride and groom be blessed with health, wealth and prosperity, 

Don't stop, until they gain immortality.

I am wishing you both lifetime love and happiness.

Like Midas, anything you touch should lead to success.

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Poet: M.V.Shankare

Title: "Freedom in my sight "- India.


I am the golden bird; I am the land of dreams. 

Where honour is god, and bravery gleams .

I was ruled by kings rich and bold, 

Who lived over joyous lands of gold.


But alas! All good things have to end.

Then came a foe, then came a fiend.

British ships were on my shore.

With torment, my soul began to sore.  


They came for spice's trade, 

But my treasures, they started to raid.

 My children’s freedom began to fade, 

With no power, helpless I laid.


They treated us like slaves,

Like tools like knaves ,

 Blood was spilled, dug up were graves,

 Inside my heart, a battle raves.


Oh, what price did I pay,

My children they would slay,

 I never fought anyone, was this my mistake?

Is kindness just a facade and peace just fake? 


But I wanted to be free,

An independent India I wanted to see,

Great valiant’s thought the same,

And now history knows their name.


Jallianwala Bagh, lit a fire, 

A calling ,a desire,

Against the British rule, we started to conspire,

For what they did, consequences would be dire. 


Finally I was at large,

The enemy retuned with a empty barge ,

 Ecstatic I was and dancing with glee,

No sooner you thought of dividing me. 


Look, YOU are free now,

But walking the path of corruption, deception and lies,

 Look YOU are free now,

But the victims of casteism still cries . 


Is this what our forefathers wanted to see?

Is this truly our legacy?

It's time to make the wrong right.

This is true freedom in my sight.

Poet:Sambhav Maloo

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