Hard to go around doing chores
day in and day out performing
the same old in small or large dose
turns killing.
Sighing and heaving I go abou.t
phone calls, guests dropping
in between. I carry on, no doubt’
with exhaustions interfering.
It so happens this morn
a trouble brews up all too sudden
accusing the one who has gone
she who had a heart golden
I hear a speech in drawl
that of a gossip involving a few
who brag and brawl
as if issues stand in queue.
Setting aside their scowl
I retreat to my room
shutting away from their howl
which, on them, will inflict a doom.
Unable to fit into the culture
where tongues spite
like a wild vulture
I wish to take flight.
One from hence
not one of impermanence
but into the dense
amalgamating in the intense.
Meenas Poems 