Meenas Poems
A street hawker named Jack
had things in a big pack
that hung on his back
while he went on his track
calling people to buy in a quack.
Quack he cried hoarsely
as his voice was roughly
like a cracked one horribly
breaking into high and low incidentally
sending an unpleasant tone awkwardly.
All that much for his voice
he had a knack of selling toys
by drawing the kids to a choice
of puppets and straw dolls in poise.
which they bought amidst great noise.
The believers call themselves spiritual.
Living a in a world of piety and godliness
where every action is attributed not the habitual
but to the links of omnipotence in all effectiveness.
They say that good and bad are only textual
the good is the result of reverence to holiness
and the bad is the after effect of disrespect of rituals.
The pious surrender all things to the Gods.
owing nothing to themselves in reality.
They shift their responsibility to Gods
pleading that all things are born out of His creativity.
Spiritualism takes us into the world of wonders
where happenings are in a make believe world
owing nothing, expecting nothing doing nothing.
if that goes on in true sense of the word
then there is a source of freedom and consensus
but actually the garb of spiritualism
mocks the intrinsically good who accept
the merits and faults with an equanimity.
The pulse beat is normal.
The heart beat is perfect.
The man turns cold.
His eyes flutter and
he falls down unconscious..
He is lying down like a dead.
None could understand the problem.
The doctors could do nothing.
The man lies like dead undeterred.
He is a young man about thirty-three.
As all stood around him with down cast eyes,
his wife with his little son rushed towards him.
She shook him and called him by his name
The man is lying down as dead undisturbed.
The little son took a step forward and then retreated.
again made a forward move but got back in fear.
The third time he raced ahead and fell on his father
letting out a cry ‘papa”, ‘papa” which made all cry.
The man lying down dead slowly opened his eyes.
The world I know
is seen from my lounge.
A few hours in the internet
keeps me going with a understaning
bringing the world to me closer.
A few more hours of reading’
takes me to the past
when my ancestors lived,
also to the present
when my children exist.
With a few more hours listening to music
bring memories of the singers
who were hailed as masters
and still remembered for their prowess.
The rest of the hours is dedicated to slumber
that which is a temporary death
taking a chance that if I open my eyes
i am still alive and if eyes not opened
I have passed off into the past.
Elections are here once again.
The politicians visit the voters in turns
with pleas to vote them again.
The ruling party hade made a good churn
taking the cream and rejecting the residual gain.
The opposition set the opposite leaders effigies to a burn.
They want a chance to rule and put forth a bargain.
The party men brag about their leaders fame.
they talk about them with fervour and enter into blows
if any one speaks ill or damages their game.
Flags of all parties are pitched on either side of the roads.
They flutter and flounder all along without a blame.
The people, Kings, for the time being do not offload
their work but go about their daily chores all the same.
Not honouring the claims and tries of the political goal.
Passing the age
when time governed me
as there are no check mates for me
like getting ready for work,
as a minute late would charge me.
No need to drop the kids at school
and pack their lunch in a hurry.
Time lags behind me now
as a tardy agent un focused and
unknowing that I have crossed the period
long back with a hearty radiance and
a gleeful cheer not always so happy
but most of the time except for a few
mishaps that blocked the source
but successfully crossed over
Well, now, I have conquered ‘Time”
like Alexander the great
conqueror of land all times.
Meenas Poems 