Meenas PoemsNarrate I my experience every day
share I my anguish not all days
part with my happiness every day
the trivial I see is transcribed
the serious is inscribed
exists there no difference
small and big have no inference
I write elaborately what I face
diligently sketch them in a trace
add a little colour and imagination
to catch the reader’s attention
know not whether I succeed
but it fascinates me indeed.
It is fun to be with your children
they are like the flowers in the garden
one being different from the other
as the rose and dahlias rather.
A mother would rejoice their presence
her eyes would gleam with an essence
the joy of being together is an exuberance
a period to be cherished with an indulgence.
She sits and recollects the incidents of the past
they come in a row gradually not too fast
the pranks they played around her in their days
how she reprimanded them in many ways.
Goes back even further to those days
the time she nursed them with grace
all come in too many a fantasy
her eyes turn moist she being not crazy.
The instincts of the mother fascinate
a feel of love with no other designate
the children are to her the life in all
as she forgets herself in the motherly call.
The flowers in the garden are so full of energy
they bloom and blossom with a synergy
being with the children is glorious
looking at them with love is truly gracious.
Meenas Poems 