Meenas PoemsA process that brings in life,
Which typically confines to seeds,
Also extends to other strife,
That wait in for fresh breeds.
Seeds slowly spurt out,
Into tiny saplings,
Species gradually grow out
Into small beings.
The physical provisions do undergo,
A remarkable change ,
As they shoot out from the embryo,
Eliciting a varied range.
The thoughts that we harbour,
Goes through a procedure,
While developing into a proper,
Oh! let me tell you,
What to do?
When you are angry,
Be quiet .
Oh ! let me tell you,
What to do ?
When you are sad,
Be quiet.
Oh ! let me tell you,
what to do?
When you are jostled,
Be quiet.
Oh ! let me tell you,
What to do ?
When you are sulky,
Be quiet.
Oh! let me tell you ,
What to do?
When you are tired,
Be quiet.
Oh! let me tell you,
What to do?
when you are happy,
Be quiet.
Oh! let me tell you,
What to do ?
When you are excited ,
Be quiet.
Oh! let me tell you,
What to do?
When you are enthusiastic,
Be quiet.
Quietness
has its plus,
Which silently excels all else,
So , let me tell you,
To be quiet all through.
Your talk tells about
Your motto throughout,
Your behaviour shows through
Your refinement in all groove,
Your eyes reflect ever,
Your hidden motives whatsoever,
Your face indexes mostly,
Your secret thoughts rightly.,
Though we put forth a disclaimer,
Our disposition is always a disclosure
How to cross a flooding river?
May sound now as a silly lever,
But once looked a tedium severe.
How to move from one place to another?
May appear now as light as a feather,
But once was a night mare rather.
How to converse with the dear ones?
May have now become a simple fun,
But once was a terrific run.
How to get connected with the world?
May result now in a circuit rolled.
But once levied a strain bold.
Science and technology had made,
Many difficult tasks into stuff ready-made.
Keeping us in a joyful trade.
I can feel the smell of rain,
Which slowly affects my feign,
I can hear the sound of thunder,
Which meekly throws me asunder,
I can see the shine of lightening,
Which blindly casts a frightening,
I rush out madly to the open space,
To get myself drenched in the trace.
I stand out in a mild drizzle,
Which keeps me in a fizzle,
Suddenly there breaks an avalanche,
Which entraps me in a desperate tranche,
Help ! help! I shout at the top of my voice,
Alas ! there is none to give a voice.
Fine ,the rain has come.
All through our life,
We undergo a strife,
Of defeat and grief,
And failures in brief,
Which put us to an untold panic,
Leaving us in a state of shock,
Unable to understand the block,
That strangles us in a tight lock,
Breathless we groan under pain,
Bearing the vibrance of violence,
With dumbfounded silence,
Whilst a stage of fear sets in
As the trial gets in .
,
Tarnished the image
The theme of a meet,
Revolves round greet,
Which evolves a beat
Of a loving treat.
The concept of a meet,
Includes a feat,
Which enhances a fleet,
Of a friendly tweet.
The purpose of a meet,
Involves a heat,
Which emanates a zeal,
Of a thoughtful heal.
The promotion of a meet,
Points to a seat,
Indulging in a gregarious confluence,
Of a thriving effluence.
Meets are for a reunion,
They are not for a rebellion,
Meets are for rejuvenation
That focus on an absolute restoration.
Living in a world of digression,
Amidst a community of diffusion,
Along with the events of intervention,
Creates a terrible frustration.
Facing such enormous discriminations,
Coping with such tedious implications,
Leaves a tired complacency,
Implying a definite emergency.
Indulging in a simple adjustment,
Involving a considerable refinement,
Levies a strange competency,
Manifesting a fine decency.
The art of reconciliation,
Is but a difficult classification,
Yet to honour its qualitative existence,
Is naturally a grand acceptance.
Walked out of a crowded train,
Into a still more populated strain,
Edging through the sea of humanity,
Negotiating along the busy insanity,
Made way to the less treaded path ,
Which meandered into a narrow lane,
That led to a sprawling land space,
Much away from the dense base,
Where huge trees bow with grace,
Where lovely hedges greet with love,
Where pretty flowers dance with joy,
While there triggers a sense of peace,
Rejuvenated by a whiff of fresh air.
Imagination has its charm,
As it is the seed of many forms,
Poesy is its spontaneous flow,
Drama is its lively show,
Prose is the easiest in the row,
The mind in itself draws,
A fine stroke of clause,
Relating to an
unseeming thought,
Yet attached to a fancy bought
That of a Space police.
The coinage sounds startling,
But makes a study interesting ,
Framed by a six-year-old,
Whose enumeration is like gold,
Keeping the listener in fold.
Week in and week out,
He talks about,
The patrolling in space,
Which leads to a race,
Of catching the robbers.
It sets me to wonder,
It makes me ponder,
Is not the space away from,
Greed, cheat and lust?
Nay ,not at all , grandma ,
Cries my” Little Nanda.”
Certainly, creativity has the rarest glow.
Meenas Poems 