Meenas Poems
It was a beautiful red flower in full bloom.
It was a pleasing red .
It was a lovely red.
It was a cheerful red.
It was not angry red.
It was not fiercely red.
It was not dangerously red.
It beckoned with a grace.
It reckoned with a poise.
It depicted a welcome choice.
It portrayed a smiling face.
The red flower’s charm lasted a day.
The red colour faded the next day.
The next morn it drooped down dead on the ground grey.
The garden was stocked with fallen leaves,
Gathering them up was a task in a fleece,
There was an uninterrupted fall from trees,
Leaves came down slowly after a gentle breeze.
Green and yellow leaves lay scattered without a cease,
Twigs small and big landed down in the crease,
They made the garden look like a messy freeze,
Inadvertently it seemed an entertainment set to please.
Cleaning up was a target beyond reach,
Finding a team was a difficult breach,
The work had to be done with a screech,
As there was no time to impeach.
Like the dry leaves thoughts crowd
The mind quivers in a desperate shroud,
Sprucing it up seems to be a task loud,
Resuming equanimity is like a falling cloud.
The imbalance strikes hard mercilessly,
Reviewing it generates apprehension enormously,
Yet gardens could be swept and cleaned spotlessly,
But the mind withholds the trials though not erroneously.
The garden abounds with fresh vegetables,
Ripe tomatoes sweep the pathway ,
Green chillies hang midway,
Eggplants bloom in purple along the causeway,
Leafy cabbages represent a royalty all the way.
Rains fall in a heavy downpour,
Flooding the garden in an uninterrupted sway,
The lovely vegetables get soaked in a desolate gay,
The earth looks like a marshy tray
Snails big and small move about in the way.
They go about in a pace so slow ,
Coiling and recoiling in a manner so graphic,
Drawing into their hard shells seem so specific,
Over a period they multiply in numeric,
The garden encounters a danger symbolic.
The water recedes gradually ,
The soil happens to look like a slushy muddle,
The vegetables lie rotten in the muddle,
The snails track down the puddle,
The garden appears like an unsolved riddle.
Meenas Poems 