Meenas PoemsThe pen I write
gets stuck at a point
no other pen in sight
the imagination disjoints
I sit up straight
my anger takes a flight.
I hurl the pen down
the nib bends
impossible, I frown
that be the end
I scream. it is a run down
cursing my inability to send.
My assignment remains bare
Do not know when I can share?
The seven little sisters
seem to be in distress
not to be seen anywhere
their tweets from nowhere
holds me fixed for a while
oh! they barge down in style.
The seven of them take stock
all of them together flock
search for their prey
the worms wriggle in a play
one by one the sparrows pick
gather a bounty and fly quick.
A feature that happens everyday
makes me happy and gay.
The foliage on the front near the boundary
serves as a beautiful shield.
hides the see through from the road, a primary
potential that extends an enormous wield
keeping my home in a privacy
fulfilling my desire with a delicacy,
The verdant I perceive from my patio
enchants, placing me in an excitement
while the greenery adds charm to the bungalow,
the quietness around renders a contentment,
one of peace, hard to explain
leading to a saturation one can deign.
The green wall glistens with dew
star like they seem from the skies blue.
The dogs howl past midnight,
barks go up in decibels, reach the heights
terrible it sounds as fear looms
I pull the quilt over while gloom
shrouds me driving me to ends
the hounds continue the trend.
My quilt lends me the warmth needed
in spite of it the body shivers unheeded.
The noise progresses without any pause,
it is pandemonium I find no cause
scared to look through the window
I close my eyes, the bark turns low.
Silence resumes as the hours pass
slumber enfolds in a toss.
A lively trade done in speed
intraday transactions on the lead
banking obviously bleeds
tourism slips to the lowest
those of auto are not doing best
a volatile situation indeed!
The economy cries with a shriek
the financials look bleak
traders grow hysteric
the country fights to break
the tedium is hard to shake
leaders seem to freak.
it is a year long syndrome
being one of a conundrum.
Trees with huge branches
stay dumb like big stone walls,
leaves do not flutter nor rustle
with a whiz, tweets of birds
cannot be heard.
Could this be a premonition?
I wonder. Anything
hazardous is on the anvil,
I deliberate. Nothing at all
it is hallucination haunting,
I reconcile. Lost in thoughts
recalling the day when
I felt the breath of life.
when I experienced the
spirited cheer. I sigh.
When will those return?
I peek through the window,
curious to find if there
is any activity. I track a
swift movement.
far away in the backyard, I see
a squirrel hovering with
a penchant, a butterfly
circumambulating a red rose
Life back again.
Sensitive to appearance
Nisha admits herself to a course,
does bending, stretching, jumping
weight lifting, in schedules,
undertakes walks.
She sweats out, seeing no change
she adopts a diet plan
shuns dairy produce, cuts
on sugar, takes plenty of fluids
in all earnest.
She experiences fatigue
her enthusiasm disappears,
tempers run high, looks evil
admonishes, picks quarrel
her structure remains sold.
Nisha, an amiable girl
known for her sweet nature
behaves atrocious,
Could it be because
of her physical exertion?
Rains pour
without a breather
flooding the garden
drenching the walls
soaking the pits
filling the potholes.
The part of my town
faces a standstill,
Can hear the thud thud
sound of the heavy rains
no thunder nor lightning
a steady fall with no pause.
Walking through the corridor
to see the fall of rains
I feel happy in a sense
the town has copious
reserve for the summer.
a feel of grief as many
are left without homes
Writing has evolved
through many modes,
with fingers on the sand
feather dipped in ink,
stylus made of steel,
chalks, pencils and pens
came in succession.
It is typing later recent being
on the computers, mobiles,
none use pens except for signature,
Another one is the digital
a turn back to the basics,
where the fingers transcribe
on the screen.
Finding a coherence
to the world being round
we start at a place end up
at the same, so do the practices
commencing with style
returning to the point
with no inhibitions.
Keeping away from view,
inside my shell
I peek and withdraw
most unassuming.
it is been a quiet life
not much of fanfare
a few incidents
here and there,
not anyway remarkable
I live closeted in a niche
with my books and music
for company.
It is been a delightful experience
getting not involved
in others affairs
feeling well with myself
having enough to take care
my well being, relationship,
revenue and sustenance
keep my hands full.
I might sound archaic
may appear distant,
could seem strange
but that is how I am.
Meenas Poems 