Meenas PoemsNevertheless they say.
None the less it goes
More or less it matters
Little less they play.
The less is found in all
Hopeless they fall
Useless they call
Ruthless they behave.
The less you are the great you feel
The less you talk the more you achieve.
The less you weigh the most agile you feel.
The less anger doubles your joy.
That be a song on less.
Please do not value it less.
I thought in a way of less.
I wrote in a way different about less
Soft she was in her talk
smile she did at any task
a tenderness not shown to all
she could also hurt in a call.
Soft she was with her children always
never did she restrict their ways
wayward they went as times passed
uncontrollable they became very fast.
Just like that she made spiteful remarks
easily she passed such in a flowing embark
never once felt she had hurt so many others
that was her character in short rather.
Her children brought her ignominy
she kept aside all those as a testimony
the failure in not chastising her kids
got compensated in all her other bids.
That way she lived and passed
never thought she has trespassed
her darker side was veiled
bright side of her face failed.
Not that I want to say anything ill of her
the stab she unwittingly inflicted on others
leaves a dismay and disappointment in a tell
a stigma she has left behind her in a shell.
it was a day of fortune
the events were in tune
the day dawned 
bright
the activities started right
a quick walk around
a stroll in the surround
a leisurely bath very soothing
and a quiet breakfast reviving
stream of phone calls in the line
not one but all in nine
one by one they disclose
desirable transactions in force
eyes light up with astonishment
iit is hard to believe, an amazemen
Well, the day has begun well
as my heart enlarges with a swell
The pictures of me when young
looking very robust and strong
smiling with no worries at all
cherubic and chubby in all
eyes glittering with a twinkle
the skin showing no wrinkles
the thoughts very much clear
the outlook was none of fear
moving with ease all around
spreading happiness in rounds
was an apple of my mother’s eye
though a little reserved and a bit shy
I lived like a princess in the household
which now looks dilapidated and is 
in many folds.
The child with tired eyes
sits there with no choice
goes about in endless tries
folds the leaves in speed
knows not its end-use and need
the tenderness of the hand is lost indeed.
wrinkled the tiny fingers look
mangled they seem almost hooked
yet the tiny hands manipulate without brook
with tears in the eyes welling 
and pain in the face pricking
a meagre amount in the pocket filling
the innocent eight-year-old turns responsible.
The window opens out
could see the world throughout
the light passes in with a flair
the breeze rushes in with a care
the eyes are caught in a glare
stretching the sight with a stare
park on objects both high and low
there they eye on the stars in a glow
whose twinkle is slightly a twinge
it could also be a streaky hinge
the stars move in a range
the eyes emit an enthusiasm strange
the loftiness holds the breath
the idealism they illustrate lends a strength
that much for the greatness in all
a little lower rather down on the ground
lies the mud with rough stones around
the eyes slowly traverse through
find a lot of meaning in their humility very true
the ruggedness is quite explicit
the realism elucidated is implicit
that is most we see through the window
the enhanced high and the enigmatic low.
Birds do not reside any more
have flocked to places far away
there being plenty of grains in store
a lot of fresh water in stock
the migration is conspicuous and voluminous
with thin residue left behind in 
that being a group of oldies
stay put in the city for good
unable to fly that much distance
live with almost nothing
feed on what little found
that makes them sustain
they survive for a few months
and pass off unknown
a great dwindle it is as shown
the fauna and flora decrease
leaving the region bare
A mother’s womb is so warm
as the baby glides slowly it cries shrill
as if it is out in a storm
when laid on the mother’s bosom
it sleeps quiet and calm.
The child sucks the breast hard
finds no milk at once
there hangs the umbilical cord
stained in damp red blood
illustrates the birth bold.
The phenomenon of growth
from childhood to adulthood
arranged with learning in all likelihood
as the child attains manhood
with intentions all good.
Love and hate cross intermittent
there is a conflict well displayed
with the abhorrence gaining a determinant
love in a scope is not prominent
the clash of egos become imminent.
The contradictions are magnified much
the feuds take the magical wand
they easily dislocate the fastened bond
the I in me and the I in you are around
the battle is fought, one losing the ground.
A slight adjustment here
a light alteration there
could bring in wonders with a shine
the resultant be an endearment fine
that would open all the nine gates in line.
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Anything more to say
it has passed in a way
what is going to stay?
emphatically nothing in a nay
think of that anyway
that is a beacon in a ray
peace and contentment in everyway
should be your chosen way
Flexible you could be at times .
Adjustable you should be at times.
Changeable you must be at times.
The coulds, shoulds and must are chimes.
They should strike
only during certain times.
Never should they echo at all times.
Meenas Poems 