Meenas PoemsA quick drive to the city
early in the morning
spent a few hours there
returned home .
Nothing much done.
Met a few prople
made new friends
being a different schedule
.
A break from the routine.
Enjoyed the short one.
A pleasant day on the whole.
A likeable sojourn.
.
The days of my childhood
most pleasant and joyful,
take me back. I revel
and reassure.
The time I spent
with my aunt
bring back memories
of happiness. I wish
to experience once again.
She played with me
told stories, cracked jokes,
unknowingly
taught simplicity and
frugality.
My relatives would tease
“your short aunt has
Shorter hands, never gives
anything without calculating”.
That was her nature.
Spent within limits.
She lived a beautiful life.
Never once did she yield
or yearn.
Moderate and everything
at arm’s distance
my second home
being easy to move aroùnd
I work through the day
with no assistance
different from the original
where I walk meters
supervise and dictate.
A distinctive life change.
a craft by itself.
My mother taught me
when I was six years old.
She started with leaves
not flowers initially.
Flowers are delicate
while leaves express strength
being easy to handle
and strand together.
She choosesleaves with tenacity
both long and broad
folds them into two
trains me to knot.
Three leaves upward
three inverted
she runs the string
then locks with a knot.
Looks straightforward.
I fold the leaves
tighten the thread
around them.
lonce, twice and thrice.
I go. Falter miserably.
crush the leaves.
Mom loses her equanimity,
Makes me do it again.
Clumsier I perform,
Struggle, my trepidation
angers mother.
She grips my fingers
helps to tie. She does
many times until
I accomplish.
Am a pro.
Make beautiful
garlands of Rose,
Jasmine and Marigold.
The tree embraces,
the branches navigate
far and wide.
The roots penetrate
deep and distant
into the land.
The leaves appear
fresh and verdant
imply a fascination.
The tree extends
shade and shelter
noble in the cause.
The flowers unfold
with a glorious
golden hue
The fruits turn
lascivious and luscious
yellow and sweet.
Such is the tree’s grace
being a giver
in every sense.
We stand belittled.
Offer nothing.
But grab and plunder.
The bangles I wear
been with me for ages
maybe for twenty some
nay has been for thirty years.
if I remember right.
The bangles travel
with me. Been
all over the world.
Glitter as new.
Incredible!
Proud to possess them.
I tend with care.
Remove them every night,
place them under the pillow.
They are precious.
Never wish to change them.
Have become so attached
They and I have
become synonymous.
Almost inseperable.
The climate change
runs fast.
None thought
it would head straight.
Kerala bleeds
dams overwhelm
rivers are in spate
—a great deluge.
Bridges totter,
water floods
men perch atop
a devastation.
California burns
fire ravages
flames gulp
people evacuate.
The elements
water and fire
play havoc
unforeseen as such.
The world gapes
a delirium prevails.
Threatening.
What will happen?
A tryst with destiny,
The days move
with the sunrise
all seem bright.
It is dusk
the night enters
darkness encircles.
It is warm one day
with no clouds
perspire with uneasiness.
It is rainy the other day
pours incessant
a sense of restriction
Severe cold sets in
yearn to be in bed
under the blanket.
The days are different
so do the spirits, fluctuate
with distractions.
The years roll swift
events create happiness
list unexpected confrontations.
The child becomes a boy
who turns an adult
then a man.
The world watches
the excitement
and the turbulence.
Grandiloquent in a course
a grandiose that sustains
a grandeur that permeates.
The day is Ashtami
eight days from New Moon
and Full Moon.
Inauspicious and despised
by all. Lord Krishna
was born on an Ashtami.
The ninth day is Navami
not as bad as eighth.
Lord Rama’s birth falls on Navami.
These two days
propose awe and fear.
Terrible to many.
Reasons seem ethereal.
No one can define
Poor old days.
The birthdays of the Lords
do not bring remission.
They are dreadful days, anyway.
Every month has
two Ashtami
and two of Navami.
Weddings do not take place
no house warming, for that matter
nothing good happens.
Superstitious I consider
what did these days do?
I am bewildered.
Lot of chocolates
lots of ants around
love to eat them
scared as always.
Meenas Poems 