Gone with a wind
a way in a kind
no more of a bind
nothing much of a blind
comes not from the hind
as one has to find
leave not the grind
the fear turns panic
the thought becomes static
the feel looks cryptic
would I transform into a lunatic?
nowhere could I see anything informative
that be the way the wind blows
not being one that in a flow
where every other thing glows
not any one lags slow
a consequence of gone with the wind
causes a sequence of din
being one of the chaotic kind.
Meenas Poems 