Meenas PoemsI write with a fear
a fear that builds up
as I get near
near to publishing
I publish with the same fear
a fear that keeps nagging
Once published I fear
a fear that makes me not sleep
Well, the response causes a fear
a fear that I should not be condemned
So many fears surround me
while I start to write
not enough still to restrict
me from writing till.
Could it be this?
could it be that?
held me in forte.
it could be this.
it could be that
folded me in a throttle.
it is this
it is not that
prepared me for the worst.
This and that
that and this
kept me awake for long.
This or that
that or this
ignored passes off as it comes.
The sun rises high nowadays
the households get busy each day
small balls of finely chopped onions
look like red shining minions
when sauteed with salt, chilly and dhal
laid in neat sheets under the sun
a preparation for the year
followed by rice wafers white and clear
the indigo brinjal slices come up
with yellow mango slices joyous to sup
many more delicacies get done
the processes are in a way fun
in practice makes use of solar energy
long back consumed by our womenfolk in synergy
An episode I recollect
makes me both happy and sad
it is one of my childhood in fact
about the gooseberry both good and bad .
Gooseberries bloom in December
relished by all, old and young
the salted ones take the cue of amber
while being delicious makes one strong
Gooseberries are a storage of resources
replenish vitamins and iron profuse
the small round fruit is silky, not coarse
hard for anyone to refuse.
Gooseberries represent a quality less
not too enjoyable as the one physical
referred to a muff and the brainless
know not how this came into being.
That day in school long years ago
a friend of mine broke down all too sudden
as a reference had hurt her ego
interrogated her to know the reason.
After a time, she came out
in between her sobs said with a whimper
she is a gooseberry all throughout
as to her dearest pal’s quote
Gooseberries that command merit
play this role in the abstract fare
there are two sided to the coin of credit
one is
fair other turns bare.
Meenas Poems 