Meenas PoemsIndependence turns
a violence. Massacre
and death stare hard.
Tears of delight and angusih
score the celebration. The British
leave the Indian subcontinent.
The country lies torn.
Hindu Muslim divide
comes into force.
A manipulation
based on religion
achieves the target.
Harmony is lost forever.
Friends become foes.
Freedom hurts at this stage.
I jump up and down
when I see a pup.
The one with
half closed eyes
whines, while I
yell in a distraught.
It is different
when I see a dog.
I run pulling
the hurt right knee.
The dog chases.
snarls with bared teeth.
I fear none other.
The heart pounds.
It is the dog
and the dog alone
makes me dance.
She is in love.
The face glows.
She smiles
for no reason.
She dialogues
with her man.
Confronts, kisses.
Romances in a dream.
Like the clouds
the love drifts
through unknown
pastures. It disappiates.
She turns a shrew Looks
daggers, speaks venom.
A sordid reflection of a
beaten mind.
The winds are fierce
the boat topples
with the fishermen.
The fish captured
slip and float free
a joyous reunion.
The men drown,
the sea swallows
a sad departure.
A frail Indonesian
with the sharp sickle,
paces up and down, inspects
the propitious fruit. Hooks it
makes a strong pluck. The fruit stays
unaffected. He gets harder. Detects
a slight movement. Holds his breath
involves higher energy this occasion.
The huge fruit tumbles down
like a bombshell.
Awesome! I shout.
It is wonderful. An enigma
Inverse proportion.The strength
and the size, the consequent
as the antecedent. I refer
Euclid, ‘The ratio of the
reciprocals of two quantities”,
force and weight.
I calculate, tabulate,
compute. Interim,
he has harvested
three tons of fruits.
Back home the Neem tree
on the north east corner,
looks like a sepoy.
Stands watchful and.
Her imperiousity
apprehends trespassers.
Birds twitter and squirrels
squeal as they go up
and down. Fastidious.
Seasons ensue
a transformation.
Never she seems weary.
She embodies greenery.
Represents myriads
of medical formulas.
Unaware of claims
to patent rights,she
serves the race.
To me she is a friend
of honour, a teacher
with wisdom.
I come across
a photograph of a girl
whose eyes are fish like
express life.
She looks splendid
unable to take my eyes off her remain in a gaze.
A flash back. I remember the face.
Could she be one of my cousins?
I attempt to track.
My mother walks in.
Reads my mind. Enjoying,
settles back on the couch.
I take out the picture from the wall.
Look close at the image. I have deciphered,
I feel it is difficult to ascribe.
Mother pouts her lips.
Shrugs her shoulders, says,
“it is you”. Damn it! I exclaim.
Me! Not me! I yell. Mom is at her wit’s end.
I glance at myself in disbelief.
Who does not love peace?
Everyone loves.
The significant nods of heads,
the shouts of “yes”
confound me.
I glance around with anguish
see bloodshed, slaughter,
vengeance and greed.
Where is harmony, then?
nowhere in sight.
The paradoxical attitude
a yearning for tranquillity
and a practice of violence
tear me into chunks.
I plead.
The distraught woman
tears her arms,
bites her lips,
pulls her hair
covers her face.
Blood oozes out,
stains her red
she is frazzled
thin and meagre
minimally clad.
She stands in the middle
of the lane. Dares any
who want to cross.
Causes a ruckus. A ghastly
figure to perceive.
Once sane and pretty,
the torpendo of life
has driven her mad.
She swears, curses
and lies on the pavement.
Those who know
of her past, sympathise.
Others hate her sight.
She is proud.
Does not seek alms.
It is something
that bothers me,
beats me down.
I wonder what it is?
Left cluleless, I stagger
and am knocked down.
That something all the while,
keeps me awake. I swoon
and turn inert.
I strive to interpret.
Confines to wilderness, helpless
unable to resolve.
The something could be nothing
a voice prompts. Bewildered,
I glance around. Discern nobody.
Meenas Poems 