Meenas PoemsWhen I have nothing to do
I turn to Nature
as it is always in the go
has in it a regular feature
dawn and dusk to dark 
it rolls on every day almost
sun, wind or rain in sight
it revolves with a vigour most
seen with a bloom here
semblance of a fade there
Nature is never tired
unlike me who cries
for the trivia in a sob
the heart sends a throb
I sit there with down cast eyes
Nature smiles at me cheerfully
Of course, with no ties!
Throw concepts on the wall
just fix them tall
leave them there in all
never bother to pursue them to call
an attack would be sensible to fall
otherwise it would be an addiction in small
carry with it nothing in crawl
a statement let out in all
take it or leave it is your call
that is the choice of a poet
who writes with sincerity in quiet.
Born in a family of great affluence
trained in fine arts from age four
music, dance and instrumental
were part of life with the fundamental
schooled in the best convent
graduated with honours and rank
an apple of the parent’s eye.
great was the life till she was twenty.
Came twenty with a bang
marriage rushed in with a twang
wedded into a family of frugality
a cheek on the go was the finality
turned she into a wife all in a sudden
bore she the yoke of burden
found she in an alien household
style and niceties on hold.
Forgot she her tunes and rhythm
became she one among the crowd
did she all the chores in diligence
had no time to think of her old days
tossed by the in-laws all the more
turned a ghost of herself in short
lost she her qualities of grace
aped she the crudities of the place.
Time flew , forty years later
discovers she her youthful attire
that of song and poetry with ardour
goes she to her veena with a fervour
Lo ! her knees ache all the way
stands she with tears in her eyes
starts to sing a song of her days
oh ! her voice cracks all the way.
That be her today
longs she to get back to the golden days
tries hard with disciplinary diligence
Oh ! finds herself in the place still
easy to turn and look back with a feel
misty is the recollections hard to retrieve
life has taken the toll all too much
sits down she desperate with hands folded.
Meenas Poems 