Meenas PoemsA disturbance is there
Is it of the mind?
that could be any kind
as we truly find
the mind makes a hell
and rings the bell
it makes a heaven
and places it in a haven
the psychic and physic
both work in a trick
if there is a failure in one
it fails the other one
mostly the mind is the culprit
as it destroys the body into bits
throws it as a waste down the drain
the body acts in a feign
becomes an entity that lives through
that walks and talks very much true
befits the epithet
alive and dead
It is a long, long weekend
with the festival on the verge
harvesting is in full swing
paddy, millet and maize converge
heaped in separate wings
hay is stacked in piles
the farmers run about in a worry
the traders rush in a hurry
with the weighing scale and cash
the transactions are done in exact
the sacks full of grains are loaded in a flash
their journey across the fields start instant
as the human traffic dies down
birds descend and saunter around with anxiety
pick the remains that lie on the field now brown
the farmers recline and relax with contentment
the celebration takes off with an enchantment
dance around and sing merrily with immense zest
fire crackers and beat the drums with overwhelming joy
an expression of gratitude for the good revenue
without a forget end up with an anthem to Nature the giver of all.
They are thoughtful
not very grateful
talk wonderful
behave beautiful
it is a show external
not so in the internal
where lies the eternal
a mind so awful
with a tinge of rueful
and a trait of doleful
could it be bashful?
could it be joyful?
know what is in full
as they are all handful
either they would be graceful
or 
might be disgraceful.
Marriage is beautiful
with one, not with four 
too many is awful
It is a strike back
not a bashful one
not a slap for that one
but a hurt on the one
a scar on the one
that could mar the one
disintegrate the one
shatter the one
destroy the one
that be the on the face
he has for all in one
the only one
anyone can have.
.
The clouds
gather
diffuse they, in a scatter
that be the matter.
Most mortals think they would live
death is not the one they believe
never the wise feel the same as they understand
life is impermanent and would disband
the period of life is fixed for all born.
The permanency is assumed by the go -between
more precise with the dull-headed and in-between
those who conclude they are eternal
break law and snap family ties
usurp, hoard and acquire with tries.
They accumulate material largess with great greed
as far as their intellect deciphers in a deed
mercenary affluence to them is by far the best
push to the oblivion the spiritual thoughts to test
dismantle the treasured values to a semblance.
They dash the ethics against the wall in a kind
fly high with immortality in mind.
not knowing their end is very near
hold to the bosom their life so tight
that way they live and to them it is wonderful.
The value of silence
most do not know
as it does not flow
nor it has a glow
it remains silent
almost dormant
it never ferments
nor does it inclement.
Silence has a validity
the no noise is a force
seeps down the pores
sits right in front of the nose
goes through the full course
unassuming it is in a froze
never gets into blows
but keeps the opponent in toes.
The nonchalant silence as I feel
peeps into every eye in a steal
sets the beholder to reel
unable to stand the looks in deal
the target falls a prey in a kneel
runs head over heels
succumbs in a conceal
be it a sign of steel.
The thoughts ignite
the touch tickles
the words inspire
the experience teaches
the years roll by
with days and hours
not a great difference that makes 
as a baby becomes a toddler
a kid an adult
an adult turns a man
with the wisdom accumulated
that be the normal course
nothing new as it is
you might exclaim
I tell you all the more
natural it might appear
it has so many depths
and so many insights
that keeps us at bay
could I call them an intrigue
could we accept them as the course
with mishaps and accidents on the anvil
with debris and disaster on the premise
with a fall down and falter on the path
I know not what to say
I would keep away
I would be a spectator as well
a silent spectator on the stroll.
it is a steady walk
climbing the steep
descending the slope
crossing the valley
jumping over the pits
wading through the waters
all done in a way
throughout the days
most synonymous with life
surrounded by trials
encircled by tiffs
endowed with bliss
entangled by myths
all experienced in a way
throughout the days
a life, not of bed of roses
a walk, not over the smooth surface
a dishevelled and disturbed path
that be in life and tread
a great resemblance found
by all at all 
times.
Meenas Poems 