Meenas PoemsThe wind blows forever
the moon basks in its glory
so does the sun shines
while the ocean roars
the river sings
as the streams flow
the mountains stand majestic
with the hillocks graceful
nature is wonderful
happy and joyful
the only eyesore
be man’s neglect
he spits and spews
draws and drives
chews and churns
his greed knows no bounds
yet he does with vigour
being the sole beneficiary
.
I am a witness
as if in oneness
I sit in quietness
just a mere witness.
I am a spectator
as if in an incubator
I watch from a perambulator
just a silent spectator.
Why am I so?
I do not know
as I notice in a row
derelictions in a flow.
If all be like me
nothing would there be
all would flee
inaction causes no glee.
Let the rest of you
leaving me out of view
rise up and speak out the due
destroy the evil in true
The passion for writing
is like a kite
above and up it flies
never does it shies
my enthusiasm rises
it multiplies in thrice
then mounts up in four folds
the thirst I could not hold
I write like a mad
pen poems of sad
poetise joy
talk with coy
know not my structure
nor my grammar
either the syntax
without an index
that is me through and through
a soul into the blue
The smell of the soil
drove me to my patio
could see the wonderful
the clouds turned black
the breeze became cool
the sky looked dark
it was a different day
cool and pleasant
stood there fo long
until rains came
drop by drop they fell
picked up momentum
rained mildly
then heavily
Pottu or bhindi in the face
is not a mere trace
it is a staunch belief
a custom with relief
among the Hindus in all
mostly women follow the call
men do at times place it on the forehead
the kumkum shines modestly in red
a tradition of Hindu religion for long
has diffused to the minimum as if it is wrong
as modern women opt for something light
just a dot or a pinpoint very slight
almost not visible to the naked eye
why so? I ask myself in tries
Christians wear a cross around the neck
Muslims wear purdahs mostly black
not shy away from their customs to a cost
Hinduism is an ancient faith
tells us of the values infinite in straight
vow to adhere to the system in all ways
an enhancement to the religion always.
The house in itself
stands divided
most of the shelves
seem to be undivided
The apparent remains together
almost resembles a pattern
the virtual differs altogether
follows a lightless lantern.
The mind makes a hell
out of the beautiful
it builds a heaven in a tell
with a practice rueful.
So go the ironies and metaphors
with paradoxes and oxymorons
the house with all tragedies to refer
becomes a place of moan.
Nice to read.
Nice to write.
Nice to play.
Nice to eat.
Nice to cry.
Nice to laugh.
Nice to walk.
Nice to sleep.
Am I being frivolous?
Well, that is what we do in tremendous
might be a difference
some do them more
some do them less
depends on the individual
that be the way to live
with other ablutions
and most other tabulations.
There prevails a contempt.
There lies a scorn.
There exists a distraughtness
There are so many apprehensions
The life goes on without expectations
moves on with a lengthiness
difficulty whatever has to be borne
as the life is beyond a pre-empt.
The loud blast of the speaker
nettles and shuttles the ears
the noise gets into the brain
causes a propositional drain
the head reels in a dizzy
the conscious oscillates in a frenzy
not happens to one but to all
yet the speakers go without a call
unrestricted in their own proceed
unknown to many around
it is a pollution of the sound
worse than the air prone
as the noise holds a serious tone
a menace to the human in all
a mishap to the society in full.
The cries shrill
came from a steep hill
enough to kill
Meenas Poems 