Meenas PoemsCaught in the middle
unable to face all
Stood morose and forlorn
knew not what to do
Could pity her at the most
She being at fault
Having committed a crime
Not anything simple
Akin to a murder
Mean I not literally
Mean I the alleged
An indirect kill
Her words and thoughts
Pierced and bruised
Tore and tarnished
Hurt and caused a death
Well, she is an assasinator
Being that of a character.
I sit in an enclosed room
rather a securely closed house
secure in a sense different
closed in a way equally challenging
Yet I feel insecure
apprehensive rather
scared in a way
frightened in a tone
a stroke here
a beat there
a slam with a force
a slap and a blow
with the blood in my hands
I stand aghast
I stand there at the behest
I stand in a test
it could be for the best
Look, I like a terrorist
Look, I like the one
who killed the guard at Ottawa
who stormed into a cafe at Sydney
who brutally massacred the innocent in Peshawar
Well, in a way, yes
it was seven at one stroke
a striker with a prowess
fearful do I seem
not to prolong anymore
I annihilated seven mosquitoes
altogether in a powerful strike.
Kate smells a rat in his perseverance.
His persistence has a hidden reference
as he is driven to the convergence
to distract her from diligence.
Kate ignores his indecent howl.
She minds not his tongue foul.
She shuns his untimely prowl
as it casts an odious growl.
The man behind him is a defined evil.
He plots Kate’s kill.
He pays his aid a heavy bill
as he aims to rob Kate of her fill.
Kate knows the plan to the full.
She faces him like a terrific bull.
His attempts to mollify her becomes null
as she implicates a vigorous pull.
The doer would encounter severe threads
in the form of words put up to the read.
The imposter would be put to a dread
which would make him one with the dead.
Round and round goes the clock.
It is a rotation of its little hands.
Round and round goes the earth.
It is a revolution on its own axis.
Round and round goes the Man.
It is a movement to circulate physically.
Round and round he craves in.
It is a motion to spread slander.
The clock shows time in precision.
Enacting day and night in decision.
The earth extends to life a bounty
Enlivening men and animals to a dainty.
Man breeds enmity in a concealed security.
He nurtures vengeance in a confided intimacy.
Killing one another is his discreet strategy.
Annihilating the existence in totality.
There he shoots.
Is it to runaway with a boot?
Or else to enter into a loot?
Much more to unplug the root.
More so to express hatred in a hoot.
Nay it is to kill the devotees in a sudden shoot.
Drastically to kill kids in an unexpected offshoot.
Thus introducing a bloody route.
Indeed the deal is beyond compute.
The aftermath is chronically acute.
Please, call him a wicked brute.
Meenas Poems 