Meenas PoemsThat which will happen
none can say. Even
Nostradamus can
go wrong.
Weather forecasts
are undependable
Exit polls in elections
mislead.
Medical emergencies
unexpectedly become
ordinary. Court verdicts
turn farcical.
Rain and sun,
life and death,
success and failure
are not in our hands.
A force acts from beyond
from where no one knows.
Kindness delivers good,
it creates miracles.
Fasting and praying
mark the month of Pusa.
Remembering Allah and his deeds
with prayers from the heart.
Islam, a gentle religion.
abounds with wisdom.
Nowhere it talks of violence
speaks most of love and forgiving.
The world, at large,
is under an onus.
A stress which reflects
fear and failure.
The killing, suicide bombing
and setting fire are advents.
They have percolated too much.
Profound are the roots.
Earth, once, was secular
where all religions flourished.
Vengeance and intolerance
dissect and torment,
The Pusa month insists
on love and tolerance.
Muslims, wherever they are.
must vow not to endanger.
Let the Muslim brethren start
the rest will follow.
We can see a congregation
where love embraces all.
We will find a community
where smile reigns.
We hope to see the world
become a haven of peace and happiness.
The best Hari Raya gift
by Muslims to the world.
Light and dark,
the one shines,
spreads life,
acts and reacts
with aplomb
The other quells,
stands solitaire,
remains quiet,
dispels and diffuses
with serenity.
A clash of clan one sees
where egoism outsmarts,
the one overlaps
while the other succumbs
a play in the cards.
These are applications
not man made, go back
to time immemorial,
are loaded with techniques
intricate and fine.
Both work with a time table,
light has the day
for its activities
the dark confines
to the whole night.
A software programmed
long time ago ,
stays tall with none
to challenge. Tech giants
will never find one similar.
The checks, scans,
immigration and thumb
impressions, the wait and walk
at the airports turn me
insane.
The luggage is examined
in three centres. Queuing, I
endure the formalities with
disenchanted cheer.
My laptop is skimmed
naked, as if it is dreadfully ill.
Documents, mails, and photos
remain no longer private.
The objective test completed
I become the subject. A lady officer
passes the wand along my sides.
to a squeaky noise.
The second examination
is performed. This time
the beep shouts loud. She
becomes panicky.
She talks to herself.
What could this woman have? Mostly
narcotics hidden or gold masqueraded
between her sari folds.
She cries out to her senior.
Enter a burly woman with thick
who gives a strong push,
I stagger to the corner.
Holds me in her hefty
arms. She looks into my eyes,
trying to discover the ploy
thinks I am a smuggler.
She bids me to remove
the bangles, and chain.
She thinks of the reward
she would be entitled to
The tool circulates
with a spin. This time falls
quiet. Takes a step back,
smiles awkward, whisks away.
I am free to go.Condescend
a benign smile, Wish to say
better luck next time
refrain with an effort.
The aircraft is ready to board.
Go through the jet bridge.
after wearing the bangles
and chain. They being real gold
>
I wish to be like a rose.
delicate and strong,
I can never emulate.
The flower, nestles
between thorns,
acrobatic in style.
The petals, express
concern, small and soft
but remain steadfast.
The fragrance mild
and pleasant spreads
remains forever.
Those in bunches
of four and five
claim solidarity.
The single ones
reminiscent of royalty,
emit grace.
Life is not a bed of
roses cautions
the prickly thorns.
The beautiful rose
inspires with passion
entices with loveliness.
The end of the week
would see me fly,
a get back to home
which I love dear,
mind not the heat and sun,
I die to see my home,
the trees and plants in a row
flutter and bow,
the people who work for me
the milkman, the newspaper vendor,
the grocer and the postman,
not to miss anyone
greet with a warm smile,
their eyes glow with joy.
A few days more to wait.
Back in my home, I will
be. The bed and the chair
beckon me. I will pass my fingers
through the folds. The grandfather
clock will chime with joy. The paintings
need dusting , the brass artifacts
a polish, the tapestries a wash
the floors a gentle mop, while the furniture
has to be rubbed to regain lustre.
All these are a tuppence, home coming
being a rejuvenation of mind and feel.
A mid day drizzle
the frogs and toads jump with joy
the day turns pleasant.
Deep in the forest
Curious sun peers through trees
brings in ray of hope
Am in a buffet,
laid out in a garden.
a pond besides
the stars twinkle.
The moon is full. Walks
with me towards the table
lights up a rows of dishes
exotic and delicious.
Salads, rice, roti,
potato fries, soup,
and many more. Veggies
being my staple food.
Curious turn towards
the other one, loaded
with fish fries, chicken, beef
The full moon hovers
Fish saute with salt
and pepper floats in vinegar
small and slender they look
the eyes emit no glow.
I take a chair near
the pond, The moon follows
where a retinue of fish
dive and glisten
The immediate contrast
dampens my spirit. My eyes
travel to the dish. Am done!
So does the moon!
One of a politician
who has lot of wits,
a natural orator, uses
them to manipulate.
Born in a family,
both traditional
and modern, in years
becomes greedy.
Rises in ranks fast,
turns authoritative
in talk, speaks
no truth.
People start to understand,
the euphemisms of his
mislead.They disengage
from his fold.
One thing for sure,
he has made money
beyond scope.
A billionaire finally.
I am stuck.
The mind turns void.
Eyes blink.
I stay for hours.
I hear silence.
Think of nothing,
A stone like being.
I remain for long.
I forget the place.
Do not remember
places, names.
am quiet for a time.
I appear strange.
A semblance to none.
Akin to the dumb, deaf.
A lunatic, perhaps.
I desire to be this way,
where in the world
garrulous abound,
who talk in vain.
I prefer to withdraw
from the place
where pretenders
prosper and live.
This is my aim
will achieve in no time.
I invoke grace,
before I end my race
Meenas Poems 