Reluctant with myself
a tinge of abhorrence
intensifies.
I set aside the chores,
a mood of contemplation,
is on the anvil
Of late, I go into moods
unknowing I succumb
to exasperation.
Fresh milk curdles,
food turns stale.
I lie awake.
Doors remain closed
curtains are drawn
days turn dark.
Hours pass. I recline
in my bed gazing
at the roof.
Rise up to a harsh
knock on the windows,
with a struggle.
Pull the curtains
find it is the wind,
while about to pull back,
I could not withdraw
from seeing the
garden.
The yellow rose
puts up a warm smile,
the red poppies nod affably
white lilies beckon with grace
the huge Neem tree
bows in obeisance,
all of them seem to say
” we are here
for you.”
Meenas Poems 