Meenas Poems
Love all said Jesus
nailed to the cross.
Love with not a cause
as it does not bring loss.
Love enforces no clause
as it exhibits no flaws.
Love is bound by no laws
as it shines with a gloss.
Love exposes no moss
as it relies not on toss.
Love creates a lovely bondage
Let this be the Christmas message
with prayers said with grace.
A modest event turned grand.
It was a show of a happy band.
Conducted with chaste austerity.
Relieved of unwanted inhibitory.
Adhering to principles of discipline.
Breaking the prevalent indiscipline.
Proposing a cordial welcome.
Extending a warm decorum.
Weeding the undesirable associations.
Embracing the required convictions.
The hosts conducted a perfect show.
It was a quiet programme in a flow.
Sequences took place in a natural mode.
Leaving none bored.
Festival of lights was the day before.
The lights were not seen all the more.
Darkness was the only thing in the fore.
Creating an unwanted furore.
It is a skilful play of governance.
Exploiting the people’s endurance.
Cajoling them with a difference.
Sending them back to primitive reference.
Learning keeps the people on the move.
Living in darkness is a lively experience all true.
Putting up with mosquito bites is a task to prove.
Well that is how we live for years together quiet low.
Blaming the predecessor is part of the game.
Accusing the federal is an excuse lame.
Accepting the deficiency is never a shame.
Setting it right soon would bring fame.
A day and night work out would bear fruit.
A well thought out plan would map the route.
Getting deep into the intrusive shoot,
would ensure a feasibility with a hoot.
Tossing in the bed she lies.
Wrinkling her brows she cries.
Twisting her nose she tries.
Biting her lips she controls.
Up she gets out of her bed.
Over her eyes look red.
Above she knocks her forehead.
High she stumbles ahead.
In she walks along the aisle.
Into she stutters over the trail.
Inside she breaks like a frail.
Inward she flutters as a gale.
Out she rushes out of the gate.
Outside she maintains her gait.
She attains the status of a feature.
She achieves a celebrity in structure
She embarks as a classical figure.
Oh! she is nothing more than a poor creature
Rituals keep us tied down.
Religion makes us bow down.
Commitments compel us to flow down.
Fear forces us to lie down.
Distress tracks us almost down.
Struggle combats with thrust down.
Survival is the only thought that blows down.
It is a tradition on the move.
sticking to the values in a grove,
shunning the deviation in a blue,
passing on with a conservative flew,
implementing a decorum true,
gliding she crosses the avenue like a dew.
Her move is an enthusiasm lively.
With a charisma she proceeds gaily,
with a stamina she presides sternly.
with a discipline she conducts firmly,
with an energy she works untiringly,
taking her to the step of victory.
Tradition is not only in her attire specially.
It is found in her speech almost admiringly.
It is seen in her manners all the most specifically.
It is explicit in her character very distinctly.
It is visible in her demeanour most explicitly.
Tradition makes her look tallerexplicitly, than everyone else totally.
Take time to laugh.
Laugh at yourself enough.
Laugh at your struggles tough.
Laugh at your experiences rough.
Laugh at your foibles muff.
Laugh at your own voice gruff.
Laugh at your wordy bluff.
Laugh at your smooth sailing surf.
Laugh at your cosy turf
Laugh at everything in a huff.
It is time to laugh and laugh.
The head started to ache.
The pressure was on all sides.
It was a horrible take.
Everything went against the tides.
The exertion was unbearable to take.
There was none to guide.
The living was only for sake.
It was difficult to ride.
Would the pressure turn out to be a break?
Would it work out to be a long abide?
Nothing seem to be conducive in the track.
All looks incredibly black.
Lie leads to a tie.
A tie directs to a buy.
The buy insists a try.
A try promotes a shy.
The shy creates a cry.
A cry pushes to a fly.
The fly brings out a sigh.
A sigh predicts a die.
The die ends up dry.
The move was gradual.
Things were at level.
It was time to revel.
There was a tumultuous arrival.
Much fanfare was seen in the appraisal.
It was a grand revival.
The introduction was an approval.
The course was absolutely referral.
It was nothing but crucial.
The enactment was graceful
The theme was paradoxical.
It was subtly satirical.
The trend was medieval.
Imitating the Chaucerian parable.
It was exorbitantly rhetorical.
Everything was in measured ritual
Nothing rushed to a heady trouble..
It was a tempered bubble.
Meenas Poems 