The things around fascinate me.
They hold me in a glee.
The neem trees shed their leaves.
They look bare as though in a grief.
The twigs appear brown
snap and fall down.
The fall of its tiny flowers
is likened to a shower.
They create a carpet of pale green.
They lie without a sheen.
The tree drops its fruits in scores
emanating a pungency in a close.
The neem tree is God’s gift to man
effective in its stand.
Meenas Poems 