Meenas PoemsThe bell rings
not from the church
not from the temple.
The bell rings incessantly
not an alarm
not a phone .
The bell rings with great sound
neither from the fire brigade
nor from the city tower.
The bell rings violently
it being a call
it being a siren.
The bell chimes vehemently
warning everyone to hide
hurrying all to go underground.
The bell’s sound
takes various cues
whilst this rings fear.
A day or two ago
heard a story of long ago
when men used to work manually
with no electricity to help them
and no other gadgets to assist them.
getting up early in the morn
walked to the place of work
with meals wrapped in leaves
toiled the whole day
and had complete rest in the evening
with no other distractions
except the weekly fair
and the street dramas enacted
then and there with songs
without any orchestra
only the drum and the conch
that lent the beats
They were healthy and robust
eating all natural food mostly raw
vegetables fresh from the farm
supplemented by fruits and grains .
Their life was easy and lovely
and they did live long
passing at the right age
as no medical facilities prevailed
facilitating a prolong and an extension
perhaps it was an intentional
giving way to the next generation
Living long has its own fall backs
that too after sixty it s a tedium
living most of the time alone
while the husband and wife keep staring
there arises a vacuum very emphatic
and if the man falls sick 
the wife tends the husband
but never could she expect that
if she gets ill and lies in bed.
That being the untold verdict
of the community at large
where the male chauvinism
reigns supreme and great
however exhausted she be
has look after the chores
Getting away from this earthly being
very much before you turn sixty
seems appropriate and wonderful
as you are saved from illness
and the much condemned loneliness
I can hear the advice of many
bidding to get involved in service
which again needs a healthy frame
and a stamina sane
which again leads to the vicious .
Die before you turn sixty or even ahead
as you would not be a burden to anyone
the least to yourself.
.
She has an eye for beauty.
likes things pretty
treasures them in her kitty
goes on hunting for nicety
keeps on buying them in density
preserves them with an intensity
cherishes them with an affinity
her name is Betty
and she looks dainty
![airpotato_thumb[3]](https://meenas17.files.wordpress.com/2013/09/airpotato_thumb3.jpg?w=300&h=175)
Having been with the crowd for long
participating in every event
with a full mind at times
and half mindedly most times
going by the rules of the community
and respecting the call of the elders
have now decided to get away from the commitments
as it brings with it nothing desirable
a bag of gossip and a container of comments
good or bad depending on the subject
mostly biased all throughout
a sequence that had brought heart burns
and a confluence that lands us in unwanted trouble
sitting there pretty well for a long time
but in the end getting meaningless messages
which lack authenticity and prudence
mostly turning out to be a bug bear
and a convention releasing no joy.
The confluence of people unlike that of rivers
stage a dim spectacle of irrational exchange.
Meenas Poems 