Meenas PoemsIt is a move
without a prove
it is a run
not for fun
it is a flee
never with glee
all too soon fall and fail
yet proceed to seek bail
it is an exodus
very much in the course
Syrians walk. sail altogether
braving the tough weather
a pitiable sight to see them
looking very glum
what sins did they commit?
a suffering incredible indeed
our heart breaks into pieces
but lo! finds no peace.
The old woman talks to herself all the time
seems to swear and curse someone every time
her eyes are fixed on an object far away
could it be a man or a substance in a way
she gestures and gesticulates
her actions are most articulate
she mutters “you, you——you”.
with a vengeance and an anger in blue
her toothless jaws are ever active
they go up and down in a proactive
the words are broken and torn
her voice is cracked and almost gone
she mutters with a spite
as sits in a chair tight
could it be a man over there?
could it be a woman fair?
Oh! you cursed soul still alive
Oh! how could you thrive?
the begetter of all my troubles
Will you not falter and stumble?
How can you live for long?
when you have committed so much wrong.
She goes on and on with a sob in between
Poor soul, wish her 
peace by all means.
A flash of light
lit the land bright
it is in the night
a beautiful sight
the moon gazes from a height
looks down straight
falls down below on the right
where the house stands alone
it is a gorgeous white one
pure and crystal like in tone
very much familiar and known
called the “White House”
a place that invited a rouse
which led to a browse
a famous icon in a course
wherein emanates a declaration of war and peace
the crucial discussions take place
the decisions show up firm, not in a trace
the governance is done not in a haze
committed is the President never in haste
the name is synonymous with ideas chaste
it being a display of grandeur and magnificence
a cynosure of all eyes and a place of excellence
Meenas Poems 