Meenas PoemsIt is all
knowing breed.
It is all accepting creed.
It is all directing lead.
It is all-purpose feed.
It is all amassing greed.
It is the all growing need
It is all germinating seed.
It is all flourishing deed.
It is all nourishing weed.
If all these supersede.
If all these exceed.
If all these accede.
If all these proceed.
If all these succeed.
There would be a stampede.
There would be a great impede.
Promulgating a fall in speed.
Reading well enhances knowledge.
The well read impart best tutelage.
Reading thorough directs a lovely arrange.
Intensive read indicates a wholesome average.
Reading entire releases a fine coverage.
In depth read embarks on a neat footage.
Reading persistently revives an extensive foliage.
A comprehensive read for sure expresses a leverage.
Reading with love is a lively delightful anchorage.
Stimulating 
read is more or less like a refreshing beverage.
Reading makes a man learned all through the age.
Lost is days of youth.
Lost is days of mirth.
Lost is days of joy.
Lost is days of toy.
Lost is days of evolution.
Lost is days of the revolution.
Lost is days of enthusiasm.
Lost is days of experiences awesome.
Lost is days of adaptability.
Lost is days of flexibility.
Lost is days of attraction.
Lost is days of distractions.
Lost is days and years.
As we lose ourselves in tears.
Cohesive thoughts are interesting.
Ideas that bring out a change are fascinating.
Inventions that assure a turn are appealing.
Strategies that usher a progress are demanding.
Improvements that lift up the society are delighting.
An involvement that renders an arising is appeasing.
An insight that predicts a jump is alluring.
An initiative that brings a development is assuring.
To focus on the goals of life is a targeting.
To aim high is a symptomatic entrusting.
To aspire for the best is gratifying.
Anyhow singing this song is most enlivening.
It is a likelihood of terms.
It is a livelihood of means.
It is that which protract.
It is a pronouncement of authority.
It is a reference to dignity.
It is that which reacts.
It is a scene of distraction.
It is a sequence of deviation.
It is that which distributes.
It is a cause for anxiety.
It is a wait for result.
It is that which attributes .
It is a general outlook.
It is a genial approach.
It is that which occupies.
It is a classic example.
It is a wonderful picture.
It is that which presents.
It is a lovely grace.
It is a fine poise.
It is that which creates.
It is an apparition.
It is a distinction.
It is that which endears.
Well it is a synthesis.
Well it is a symphony.
Well it is that which enlightens.
So goes on the thoughts.
So runs the descriptions.
So spreads the vision.
Light up a needy child.
Brighten up the handicapped.
Take care of the aged.
A motivation that has to be elicited.
A motto that has to be adopted.
A memorandum that has to be understood.
It might sound like a teaching.
It might echo a preaching.
In reality it is a searching.
It was an exchange,
Neither dealing with currency in a range.
Nor involving a
barter all the same.
It was an exchange,
Away from the economy in a range,
Far away from the mundane all the same.
It was an exchange.
Across the deep blue ocean in a range,
Covering thousands of kilometers all the same.
It was an exchange,
Where age did not come into the range,
Where affection stood above all the same.
It was an exchange ,
Where the grandson poured out his thoughts in a range,
Where the grandmother listened mesmerised all the same.
Then it is not an exchange,
You might blindly say in a range,
Yet it was sharing of feelings in a manner strange.
Age calls for attention.
There is less tension,
but more apprehension
commanding a revision,
controlling a deviation,
bringing in appreciation,
reviewing combinations,
assigning permutations,
accepting confrontations,
announcing celebrations,
expecting an invitation,
to depart.
Eat vegetables calls the father.
Drink fruit juice pleads the mother.
Take cereals for breakfast shouts the father.
Have a cup of milk compels the mother.
The six-year-old has a lot to bother.
She prefers chips and muffins altogether.
She looks beseechingly at her father.
She turns lovingly at her mother.
Her eyes express her desire rather.
Would she have her choice? a pointer.
Never would she we gather.
Early in the morning there was a sound.
It was not the cock a doodle do.
It was not the clock’s ding-dong.
It was not the baby’s shrill cry.
It was not the bird’s sweet call.
It was not the mother’s shout.
It was not the father’s retort.
It was not the boy’s grumbling.
It was not the paper boy’s cycle bell.
It was not the milkman’s loud alarm.
It was not the whistling tea-pot.
It was not the hissing shower.
It was, it was, a snore.
Emanating from grand pa.
She was brooding over the happenings.
She was recollecting the trappings.
Her memory took her long back.
Reminding her of the days in a track.
Once she was a golden girl.
She moved along with lovely frills.
She hummed in musical shrill.
Everyone danced to her drills.
She grew up to become a lovely lady fair
She commanded respect in all the flair.
Gliding through the tracks in a rare,
she evoked a shining glare.
The curtains are falling down.
Her demeanour has become a frown.
Her appearance has lost its glamour.
She withdraws herself into her chamber.
She has to come out of her past.
Eventually accept the present.
Go about with the tide in glory.
That is how we have to end the story.
Meenas Poems 