Meenas PoemsI look up at the sky
see an object fly
it goes in a line
very much in a straight line
the line continues
is pure white in hue
I set my eyes on the line
follow it to the quickest fine
Could it be a heavenly object?
my analytical mind rejects
Could it be a bird?
never it is heard
Could it be a plane
does it look
so plain?
the line goes on and on
as if a demarcation is shown
without any resolve
i bend my neck down to solve
the issues on the ground
not wishing to decipher the unfound.
The toddler is pampered
as her mother goes wayward
not otherwise but in her deal with a child
feeds her child now and then as often
goes round her with a spoonful
coaxes her to partake the entire
dances before as a cajole
fills the little one’s mouth in a jowl
the toddler knows now the tricks
she plays truantly with a flow
hides herself in one place
naughty she turns all at once
the mother becomes extensively scary
the girl goes topsy in a second
while the mother turns crazy
the melodrama continues for days and years
let not the years spoil the child
as she has to grow into a responsible adult in the go
the way you bring up your child
matters the most in her later life
discipline and liberty are to be shown
not the one more than the other
proportion the two in a measure
let the combination be balanced
as the more of one would ruin the child
or be that a less of one
could also destroy the nature of the child
care to be deployed with poise
the child would then blossom with grace
Gracious Unto thou and to thy 
child.
I like to see the snow
and espy its vastness
white it lies all around
fluffy it looks in the course
enchanting it is to me
as I find in the pictures
fascinating it could be
if I see them in real.
The snow is cold and pure
a skate through the smooth layers
would be a refreshing glide in a slide
a whisk and a whizz through the snow
could be an experience in itself
as a child wanted to make snowballs
the wish is unfulfilled till this time
Would I see snow before I die?
Desperate I am to experience the snow fall
Know not why I have this sensitive call?
Snow, its whiteness holds me spellbound
its softness makes me wonder
this sheet of ice could be so marvellous
fortunate are those who live in snowclad mountains
deem myself to be blessed less from the rest
as I live away, far away from the lovely snow.
The books are opened and closed
know not for what and why it happens
could it be an attempt forced
as that of a boy made to do so
reluctant he is to open
feels better sooner he shuts.
Could it be an accounts book?
The partners are wary to open
with the accounting all crook
eager to hide and shut
many more possibilities could be there
these are but a few that come to mind
being possible chances all so ever.
The school I went
seems to be different
way back in the sixties
there were a freedom and a strictness
found with a lot of references
the no uniform code is one such
kept us in a board and stretched
like butterflies with bright feathers
we went to school in all colours
no shoes we wore but slippers alone
as our place has a warm tone
our feet never perspired profusely
nor smelt bad and felt swanky
our hair was tightly plaited into two
and ribbons were tied around them
flowers were strewn together in a string
adorned our hair in a beautiful swing
the teachers were kind and effective
gave us a lot of space to turn reflective
they taught us not only the subjects
also made us understand the objects around
my alma mater was an excellent place to study
extends still
an invasive knowledge and wisdom steady
am greatly indebted to the school of great merit
made me a woman of strength with wholesome credit.
Regret what you have said in rash
not his cup of tea at all
he speaks with a shout and a dash
always his way in a call.
Goes he with a smile and tease
when he himself is to be fleeced
behaves in a manner most egoistic
never he has shown stoic.
He is with so many defaults
harbinger of countless faults
poses himself to be godly
a blower of his own trumpet 
sadly..
The duties I forget
the compulsive ones most
that being the milk on the stove
it is the day to day routine
I sit reading through with concentration
or gazing through the window more concentrated
while the music in the background plays rhapsodically
the milk boils and boils many a time
I sit unmoved in my place lost in myself
the burnt smell emanates slowly
that is the alert generally cautions me
I rush to see my milk on the stove
there is no milk, not even a drop
the milk pan almost charred lies burnt
this is not on one or two occasions
but being throughout my life with few exceptions
I look up the attic straining my neck
see milk pans in a row shapeless and black
the milk bill escalates two folds and three folds
I stand answerable to my husband
who frowns at me but lets me off with that alone
as he is so fond of the tea 
I prepare all these days.
Heaven forbid they say
yes it forbids in a way
the trespasses and sins
committed with wins
gives you glory for a time
when the bell chimes
that of the death knell
the repentance comes in a swell
the thought of Heaven bids
then soul wants to get rid
cries out “Heaven Forbid.”
it is an occasion
not one of usual
very distinct and different
a business and relation together
very odd and strange.
it turns into a precarious situation
with the innumerable transaction
overlapping the bond of relation
count surpasses the heart beats
the conversion becomes upbeat.
It always happens
material vies over affection
numbers strangle the goodness
brothers become proclaimed foes
with an armour and a shield in the go.
The combination posts offensiveness
commercial smothers apprehensiveness
suspicion crawls in a manner unobtrusive
the disbelief disbands the fidelity
finally the abstract devolves into a distraction.
The patches great and small
be they colourful or colourless
they remain as blotches
that be seen or unseen
be that in the physical appearance
a camouflage or a dressing up
could minimize never make it disappear
so be that of the patch in the relation
big or small as the case might be
an apology or a forgiveness
accompanied by a forget that being very rare
causes a dent so deep and strong
could bring a reconciliation at the time
could not go for a longer time
as the break is always a break
not easy to bring back the original
Well,in both as seen from time immemorial
the external look and internal trial 
all be the same.
Meenas Poems 