Meenas PoemsThe warmth of the mother
her smell is a delicate flavour
her closeness renders a savour
her embrace extends a solicitation
her touch passes on a direction
her looks lend a rejuvenation
well, that be the mother in a special
experiencing 
a satisfaction better than a ritual
Sundays are never dull
as I have the day in full
I sit and stand then and there
I read and write when and where
I eat and drink as much as I can
I bathe and dry up without a ban
I sleep and dream many a time in the span
I lie in my bed under the big fan
that be how I spend the day
the day being none other than a Sunday.
Being a crawl
slow and steady in all
without a fall.
Being very slow
rhythmic in a steady flow
great in glow.
Being the stats
one, two, three as that
a gentle 
pat.
The still night
dark and cold
nothing in sight
forces a fold.
The night induces
a sleep so sound
no dreams to deduce
none to be found.
The dreamless sleep
so peaceful in a relax
involves an ease deep
lowers the cold in a coax.
With the blankets over
the warmth prompts a lull
the eyes no longer hover
diffuses the feel dull.
An overnight slumber
with a refreshing sequel
lands you in an envious aplomb
as the mind rests in a tranquil.
It is a set of rules
a pack of principles
not worked out by fools
framed by the rulers
who themselves breach
violate the precepts unmindful
chartered out by them with a reach
what then a need for a constitution in full?
being assailed by the lure, the lust and the love
centers on the interest of money in relation
a living style of aplomb inducts a bow
rules are broken at convenience in violation
a bribe extraordinary and in excess
releases a functionary procedure 
the ball is kept rolling with ease in the process
Meenas Poems 