Meenas PoemsIt is silence all the way
no noise in the day
there could be a play
without a scream in stay
there could be a celebration
without a bustle all day
there could be a study
without a hassle in a say
there could be a travel
without a fanfare in a way
there could be a meal
without a ostentation in play
there could be an action
without grief being one of gay
there could be a living
without a hiccup in a stay
there 
be the beautiful ray
which lasts all through the day.
It is a trance
be it a chance
a priest in a dance
his eyes gleam red
he seems to be dead
then his eyelids close and shut
his words resemble a fret
the audience light the camphor
he wriggles his body in a vigour
the sambrani burns into fumes
a pleasant odour looms
the spectators put forth their queries
he answers them in a reverie
they listen to him with utmost reverence
as he is equal to the almighty in a reference
I sit there with a thought all the while
suspicion gathers in me in a strange style
could this man have such capacity?
not at all my mind warns me with a reliability
how could I make my friends understand?
they are neverthe
less blind in their stand.
Like to view
thousands of things in queue
without a cue
has been long overdue
keeps me in blue.
The role of a house wife
being a task in real life
hundreds of chores
keep her on toes
the children call her
the husband behind her
the tasks force her
not a moment for her
being very much explicit
whatever be the deficit
be it money or material
she has to travel arterial
the mind full of a load
she attaches to a board
being that one of memory
an absolute makes her merry
a slip puts her in a quarry
she walks on a tight rope
manages well on the slopes
a house wife efficient she be
a fittest acclaimed she be 
Meenas Poems 