The house in itself
stands divided
most of the shelves
seem to be undivided
The apparent remains together
almost resembles a pattern
the virtual differs altogether
follows a lightless lantern.
The mind makes a hell
out of the beautiful
it builds a heaven in a tell
with a practice rueful.
So go the ironies and metaphors
with paradoxes and oxymorons
the house with all tragedies to refer
becomes a place of moan.
Meenas Poems 