Looking up towards the sky,
We see a shining spy,
Glistening like a fry,
Squeezing the eyes in a pry,
We get a glimpse of a try,
Which may be an elusive lie,
But very much a tangible wry,
Through a scorched thicket dry
Over a credential sigh,
Acquiring with a hope alive,
The treasured olive
Which is far beyond,
Very much beyond ,
The normal rejoin.
Meenas Poems 