Meenas Poems
To read what I write
is but a terrible bite
as I write with a passion
nothing to do with fashion
pour my thoughts in speed
they are in verse think I indeed!
what they are to others I know not?
as I write for me alone all throughout
this way I go about in my work
performing for my satisfaction alone
a very different personality in tone
stand I very much apart from the normal
withdrawn from the world but very formal
Do I look a strange creäture to you?
Well, that is me who remains always true.
mesmerize me, my dear
the green I espied a little ago
sheds its darkness with no ego
turns light without a show
from dark to pale in a slow
a while after I perceive a change
this though not in range
looks red now not a derange
haunts me rather strange
the colour changes forth so quick
become they yellow in a tick
the leaves are no more thick
cling no more to the branches
they fall hurriedly in bunches
lay there for a rest in the trenches
emanate not any stench
the transformation scene so tall
that be the glory of the fall
autumn in Canada they call.
On the sea shore
there are more
pebbles small and big
excessive they are in a dig
in many shapes as well
hexagon and square in tell
tiny conches and shells
found there in a dwell
I, like a child eagerly
gathered them steadily
threw them into the water
flowed they back in a splatter
engaged in a play for a while
so it continued in great style
the game brought memories of past
which have been rightly cast
at the rear end of the mind.
Now, I see it as a great find.
A wisdom I attained after years
a way to live in good cheer
is to remember
the good more
forget the rest as it is a bore.
Meenas Poems 