Meenas Poems
Rub a dub dub,
Three things in a tub,
And what do you think that may be?
Gold glistening with glare,
Silver shining with flare,
Stocks gleaming in stare,
How did they get there?
They propose a safe haven,
They infuse an investing spirit,
They track a revenue remarkable,
Be careful,
Never throw them out-of-doors,
I am very tired
Oh my dear!
I need rest
Oh my dear!
Will I get it ?
Oh my dear!,
I know not how?
Oh my dear!
When will I get peace?
Oh my dear!
I wish to sleep,
Oh my dear!
Let slumber embrace me,
Oh my dear!
Let me not wake up,
Oh my dear!
Let me ebb into eternity ,
Oh my dear!
Un noticed, Unsung,Un honoured ,
Oh my dear!
Not to be born again,
Oh my dear!
Will you grant me?
Oh my dear!
Please you should,
Oh my dear!
With warm regards ,
To you my dear!
Defying Nature is irreverence,
Beware Of nature’s wrath
Destroying Nature is transgression,
Fear Nature’s fury,
Deriding Nature is sacramental,
Keep away from Nature’s anger.
Nature has its own way,
Care and destruction occur in a sway,
Remitting a fondle and a raid,
Extending an embrace and a tirade,
Holding up the righteous and good,
Deleting the indecorous and bad.
Nature has its own way,
Dealing with ailments in a fray,
A leaf dispels upsets in a quickness,
A shrub dismisses pain in a raciness,
A bark disproves strain in a firmness,
Curing all setbacks without a suspense.
Nature has its own way,
Revenging the teasers in a day,
Ravages the land with indignation,
As it enacts a river’s spate,
As it fumes into a volcanic irate
As it devours all
in a stormy agitate
Whispers are noisy too,
When everything is still,
The rustling leaves do whisper,
As the wind blows in a gentle fill,
The flowing streams do whisper,
As the water gushes in thrill,
The peeping Sun does whisper,
As the day dawns in shrill,
The bowing trees do whisper,
As the breeze blows in frill,
The dangling flowers do whisper,
As they dance to the melody in drill,
The little child does whisper,
As it hears the lullaby to a will,
Whispers do keep us bound,
As they go through all rounds.
Put your hands in the glowing fire,
Place your feet in the freezing ice,
Relax yourself over a bed of thorns,
Walk in ease through a slippery plain,
Sit comfortably on a heap of rubbish,
Eat with content food without taste
Drink fondly a nectar bitter,
See lovingly a picture frightful.
Hear unswervingly a sound blaring,
Listen attentively to talk senseless,
Read intensely a story terrible,
Undertake effortlessly a journey tiring,
Is it possible?
Keep me Posted.
Rare paintings in age-old temples,
Reveal volumes of history,
Depict scenes of the past,
In colourful artistic splendour.
These monumental sketches,
By artists of yore,
Are rare treasures passed on,
From generations to generations.
They tell us about events,
Teach us the customs,
Discipline our lifestyle,
By illustrations of traditions.
Restoration unmindful destroys,
Kill the beauty forever,
As the significant exhibits die,
In the hands of ignorance.
Renovations have to restructure
To garnish the lost glamour,
By reinventing the charm,
In conservative constructions.
The present day efforts,
Put forth a suicidal trend,
Wiping off extensively ,
The delicacies of the past.
A painting is a creation,
Of the mind and soul,
It is a profound release,
Of thought
and imagination.
True art has no replicas,
As they are spontaneous,
Born only once,
Never to be created again.
Such being the state,
An extreme care is the need,
Bidding a requisition for a challenge,
Most similar to a virtuous patience
Meenas Poems 