Meenas PoemsI wonder,
How life goes about all day?
Invigorating a few most times,
Intimidating most at times,
Provoking a struggle all times,
I wonder,
I keep on wondering,
I would wonder till I die.
Well, Death is another wonder,
Snatching 
the young at times,
Leaving the old many times,
Saddening all, all the times,
I wonder,
I keep on wondering,
I would wonder till I die.
Is winning laurels an achievement?
Yes, it is a rightful assumption,
Is becoming sixty years an attainment?
No,it is a misconceived conception.
Celebrating the sixtieth birthday is a fashion,
Holding feasts and revelry in honour of the day.
Attributing it to the stars and zodiac signs is the reason
Spending hundred thousands in one single day.
Well ,that is each one’s wish is the defense,
Right ,is it not there a limit?
I stand out from the crowd which is an offence,
Yet,I will never admit.
To me, aging is a natural process,
Everyone born undergoes,
To me ,it does not bear any success,
It is only a natural recourse.
Oh! it was a big celebration people acclaim,
Oh! there was a huge gathering,all proclaim
Oh! the food was delicious the crowd claims,
Oh! what a colossal waste, 
I exclaim!
Have you seen a man with a jabbering tongue?
Nay, you have not seen him so long,
Well,I would give a wordy glimpse of him in my song.
Call him what you will,
I prefer to name him Bill,
As it is easy to fill
Bill, talks incessantly in bits and pieces,
I prefer to term it broken releases,
As in them expression ceases.
Bill speaks about God and philosophy
I prefer to dub it as a torturing apostrophe,
As they tend to initiate a brain catastrophe.
Bill rallies about sports too,
I prefer to seal it as a bore too,
As it carries no activity too.
Bill rakes slanders often,
I prefer to check it in tens,
As it spreads ignominy in ton.
Bill is nosy about his kith and kin,
I prefer to draft him as an empty din.
As his prying could be thrown into
a trash bin.
Lastly, Bill forgets about himself,
I prefer to attribute it to his bare upper shelf,
As he appears like a spineless man to myself.
,
The days of youth are fun,
As we are always in the run,
Once we are up on a tree,
We sing aloud in a total free.
The days of adulthood are little less fun,
As we have to move about in a slower run,
Once we are in the mid tree,
We deliberate on things not totally free.
The days of mid age are least fun,
As we have to check out our run,
Once we are on the lower tree,
We work on the responsibilities almost unfree.
The days of old age are never a fun,
As we have to stop our run,
Once we are beneath the tree,
We count the days when we would be set free.
It is going to be another year,
The stroke of midnight is heard clear,
Away goes 2011 in the rear,
In comes in 2012 with cheer,
Pushing back the recession of last year,
Setting aside the bygone days fear,
The year that passes off was loaded with tears,
An outcome which threw all out of gear,
An economic show down that ran out near,
Upheavals that dethroned dictators clear,
Wars shattered the world to a sneer,
Storms ,quakes , floods battered severe,
Man stands aghast in turmoil mere,
Another year dawns in the sphere,
Making him to eye an empowerment in the veer,
Let he be blessed with all prosperity this year,
This is the hope for all every year,
Many cross links intrude making things drear,
Yet life goes on in eager anticipation unclear,
This is the story year after year.
What else do you wish to hear?
Wishing all “A very happy new year”!
It is back to the old place,
Back to the usual pace,
Back in the familiar space,
Back into the monotonous race.
All things have a back side,
All time has a back tide,
All levels have a back ride,
All steps have a back slide.
Going back home is a pleasant return,
Reading back is a historical learn,
Falling back is a miserable spurn,
Back to the original is never a possible turn.
A firm backing lands all in a glamorous zone,
Backing detects in all an infirm tone,
An undue backing for is precarious prone,
Backing also deletes in all an individualistic own.
Well, getting back to the prescribed text,
It is a back up of all the zest,
Restoring the faculties to the best,
Reaffirming the convictions to a test.
It is back to the regular day,
It is back to the formal say,
It is at times a strenuous slay,
But it is 
always an indefatigable way.
It was a march anyhow,
Not an army trot anyhow,
Nor a fashion show anyhow,
Very much different somehow.
The eager wait prolongs,
Honourable guests are not seen along,
Punctuality is tripped so long,
Confining the crowd not to drift along.
The eyes rove over,
Nothing glamorous appears all over,
Not able to view beauties from world over,
It was patience made over.
Towards the right two jump across,
On the left a group of five cross,
In the middle little ones toss,
Depicting a lively display in a gloss.
They have a coat of black,
A broad white stripe in the pack,
Snorting with a peculiar quack,
They march ahead in a merry track.
The parade is not orderly,
The dainty gait looks lovely,
The non rhythmic steps are funny slightly,
Yet they captivate us wholly.
The blue waters flow to the shore,
The orange Sun goes down into the floor,
Black lights up the sky in a quiet score,
The little dark Penguins gather in store.
Up they ascend in a hurry,
Hastening to see the babes in a flurry,
Peeping into their habitats with worry,
They flock reverse in an undue hurry.
It is a parade with a difference anyhow,
It happens every night almost anyhow,
It undergoes no rehearsals anyhow,
Yet it is a delightful Parade somehow
It is blue deep blue.
Water in a beautiful hue,
Waves rolling out without a clue,
Kissing the shore with an amorous cue.
Winding goes the long drive,
Bends come in a notation live,
The mighty ocean rises in a strive,
Breathing out an awe in a thrive.
Intermittent bays appear on the way,
Scintillating scenery hold us in a sway,
The huge trees stand in the fray,
Expressing a magnificence all the way.
The hills slopes up and down,
A little steep and brown.
The eucalyptus grows in a lanky throng,
Enhancing the charm to an ecstatic song.
Down goes the road at times,
Up climb
s the path at times,
Presenting an enticing scenario all times,
Lifting us to a lofty frenzy most times.
Looks are many so many,
Calling for a penny,
Looks are different very different,
Posing an under current.
Looks take a bird tone and an animal clue,
Expressing a sensation in queue
First comes the pleasant look,
With a smile and poise,
Next treks in a beautiful look,
With a glamour and grace
Then comes in a seductive look,
With a provoke and blaze.
The Ravenous looks are zealous,
Attributing a rapacious insinuation,
The Eagle looks are horrendous,
Ascribing to an evil demonstration
The Dove looks are melodious,
Gathering a sweet inclination.
The look of a Lion interprets majesty,
The look of a Tiger indicates fury,
The look of a wolf emits treachery,
The look of a rabbit exhibits timidity,
The look of a monkey elaborates truancy.
The individual expressions of birds and animals,
Transcribe and translate in Man’s eye ,
Reflecting his intentions and intonations,
Be it royal, furious, seductive and pleasant,
Compiling a record of looks too many.
The impudence of the kin,
The arrogance of the kith,
The disregard of the near,
The disdain of the dear,
Lasts not for a year.
They change with the seasons,
Cold is their feeling in Winter,
Friendly is their attitude in Summer,
Endearing is their advance in Spring
,
Indifferent is their thought for autumn
They vary with periods of the day,
Pose a smile in the morn,
Look displeased in the afternoon,
Express a sneer in the evening.
Ensue a threat in the night.
Their endearing and exuberance persuade
Their shrug and shriek dissuade,
Their jibes and vile intrude
Their provocation and condescension delude,
The mind ,thought and whatever not.
Ever be ready to attack them
Not with weapons but with words,
Let them be scathing and sticky,
Conducting a hurt so brutal and poignant.
Befitting their taunts and tantrums
Meenas Poems 