Meenas PoemsBeing used to a variety
both in food and attire
with a tradition interlocked
I seem to be a difficult person.
Food should have a taste
not to go away from the old
never to turn and deviate
always to the recipes of old.
Attire should have a grace
not to be lead astray
never to divert and copy
always to the modesty in play.
That be my ideas of the essentials
never to cross over in differential
a sticker to the old order
flexible to the modern with modesty in mind.
The hundred-year-old man
celebrates his birthday
so does a one-year-old baby
cuts the cake for his birthday
both do it with a help obvious
one being too old to hold the knife
the other being too little to hold the knife
the fear being the same in both
an injury would be the cause of a tremor
all the same it could be of a playful handle
yet they celebrate for the cause of others
the hundred-year-old for the sake of his progeny
the one year for the wish of his parents
not so for their own in both
as one has lost his memory years back
the other has not built his memory till now.
It is a long road
very long and broad
no ups and downs all through
but a few speed breakers through
promises a peaceful ride
with vehicles by the side
no overtakes in store
no honking in score
a regulated drive
in orderly files
the travel turns enjoyable
could also turn enviable
a similarity is seen in life
the long road delivers a strife
interruptions in the form of commitment
instigations in the term of an indictment
with competitions and compulsions
go to make up for the propositions
mark the journey of life in style
could be one of happiness in trial
could also deal with failures too.
It is a vanga
a welcome word
resounds in my world
echoes with a fluency
pronounced with a buoyancy
a simple word as such
connotes a pleasure much
the guests are honoured
as they are greeted with vanga,vanga
blissful is the experience
grand is the reference.
The bananas in my fruit basket
gleams yellow and gold with a target
they are in such fine shape
held together with a tape
the natural one I mean
with a tinge of green
they lie on my table
not for long as in the fable
one by one they disappear
the number dwindles in an appear
cause being the delicious taste
all organically grown not in haste
as in the fertilised banana groves
not artificially ripened in the troves
those who see put their tongues out
smack the lips up and down in a float
the bananas are a proven delight
keeps all in a fantasy.
The Sydney storm
causes harm
the rains lash
floods in a flash
houses washed away
a horrible
day.
Good we do
lives after us
the bad we do
also lives after us
a strange proposition
yet has a lot of relevance.
Good, go to heaven
a popular saying
bad are confined to hell
another famous belief
do they actually go?
a point to ponder.
These be the faith
that grows out straight
a method to hold
good should remain good
bad would turn good
a schedule written in gold.
The rise of the sun
comes with a fun
with a wind very strong
the birds make merry with a song
the sun rises from its slumber in a languish
with a stretch and straighten up in anguish
gathers up in a hurry overcoming its tardiness
kisses the darkness with a mild fondness
the brightness comes out in hide and seek
shades of yellow and silver dissipate the bleak
it is but a lovely sight to watch
encourages the one to go with a catch.
The hands fold
along with a lovely smile
a gracious sign.
A house divided
looks invaded
with a menace
stumbled in a grimace
looks horrible
provides a tremble
it causes a shiver
releases a tremor
it is an exposure
of the texture
where in fights happen
grow and sharpen
kill the geniality
with no finality.
Meenas Poems 