Meenas PoemsI did not remain at one place
from dawn to dusk.
Like an errand boy
I run from post to post.
Rush to finalize the details
I myself have assigned.
I approach with a focus
I pursue with tremendous vitality.
Am I carrying out all right?
I contemplate for a while.
I talk to myself.
A Soliloquy.
Fear none. That era is bygone.
Get ahead.
Keep going with a determination.
The goal is not far.
Do not pause.
Strike with a passion.
You will win.
Smile- that is your reward.
A series of events provokes an apprehension.
Are they premonitions? I stagger.
They are phenomena that arise.
Not issues to fret and despair.
I gather the loose ends.
shun the sequences from the mind.
They come back in a periodical frequency
much to my chagrin.
They are hallucinations that haunt me.
Cannot skip the course.
What are they one might speculate?
Nothing significant or deliberate.
They are trivia, persistent
interventions of the kith and kin,
who come behind me
wherever I go, accurate follow
Follow me as a shadow. Copy the moves,
mimic the procedure – a masquerade.
The reflections keep me in constant stress.
I experience a pang, encounter a panic.
Bizarre it echoes.
But it is typical.
Great are the benefits think the mothers.
Buy utensils, ornaments, mats, furniture
beds, pillows, bed covers, bags
what not and what all. A gallery.
They perform with passion.
Inscribe or sew the initials.
A twenty year collection -gift
to the daughter- The heirloom.
Transported , stacked
and locked in her husband’d place
once she gets married. A periodical
wipe and clean take place. A parking.
A system through generations.
The daughter lives in the city
away from her possessions. She never
uses them if at all a few. A bank
These policies might sound strange
but the community cherishes. Carries them
forward — a venture not remunerative
but supportive. Trial Balance
The community pays no attention.
Rising price never bothers them.
The dust in locked rooms accumulate.
The womenfolk continue to acquire. Economy.
Mother to daughter goes the chain.
Daughter to her daughter – an endless
flow. the mighty ocean seem to pause
but never this community. The graph
It has been so all the years
the fault finding a habit,
nagging more so.
LIna does not recognize
the perfect measure. It is either
excess or shortfall, feels Roma
Resentment grows as
Roma becomes old. He is
not happy with Lina.
Age mellows but not with
Roma, who drives Lina mad.
She pulls on.
Lina, no way young,
be lesser by two years,
is bullied.
She is circumscribed
looks for a way out.
Nothing in sight.
Lina lives with determination
Attempts to take the issues
easy. Has to be stoic.
They also serve
who stand and wait.
The castle massive
expands in size on the air
costs no money.
The pair, husband and wife,
Mr and Mrs Somerset
complement and supplement
each other all the more.
It is amusing to watch.
They fight wild. Attack with fierce.
Next they exchange pleasantries.
Disagree on every issue
contradict- battle of wits
suspended by an accord.
Somerset finds fault with ease
shouts at his wife Lina
who moves on with a grin.
Few occasions count her anger.
She retorts with convictions.
Volcanic in her outbursts.
The Somersets live with grace.
Goodwill and kindliness stay
A good old couple!
she walks sideways, a gait
often like an oscillating
pendulum.
Speaks of herself,
of her standalone
spouse, her children
professionals in her lexicon.
Vasu imagines she is the one
in the world. Claims perfection
in thought and looks.. Gross conflict
of her authentic self.
Proud of her genes
proclaims emphatically
she and her kin epitomize
excellence and elegance.
Vasu, as if in a reverie,
smiles, nods and talks
with an assertion. A distinct
style of interaction.
Watch her close for a time.
Discover she is exceptional.
Not like all of us. A being
of an unknown world.
This week end I plan to go.
Where to I do not know?
I am at home every week.
You might assume I am a freak.
The time I spend at home
can be dubbed as roam?
The parlour has a fascination.
while the veranda extends a deviation.
Kitchen turns an oppression,
the library proposes an obsession.
Above and all the bedroom solicits
the dining hall insists.
The preparations for a day out
concludes without a destination aloud.
Having called it the day,
one of exertion on the line
I relax for a while.
The new home
demands my time
depletes my energy.
The “thinnai” is the place
where I contemplate much the same
as Buddha under the Bodhi tree.
He receives enlightenment
I sit dazed– the distinction
recall the recent events.
The summer is at its climax.
Hot winds beat with a force
My head reels.
I go inside. The power goes off.
Heat penetrates. The wall is hot,
the furniture turns warm.
Neither able to rest nor work
I gaze at the sun, red hot. Wonder
the excellence of the light giver,
The Sun is flamboyant,.
Perseveres relentless. Its
power drives me mad.
.Can I acheive by practice
the transcendental heights?
Buddha”s Nirvana Never could I?
The way he talks,
the manner he walks,
a straightforward foible
comparable to a rubble.
From early twenties
to the recent seventy
he behaves strange
assumes himself to be a sage.
That is his procedure,
governed by integers
the accounting practice
commensurate with his tactics
Call him what you want
his writing is of a font
one of a slant almost a crawl
while his speech is a drawl.
Cacophony is a sound
beyond the bound
such that the voice cracks
an echo of the duck’s quack.
I can go on without a stop
decide to put a full stop
the protagonist is an evil character
a macabre and a detractor.
Meenas Poems 