Meenas PoemsA feel I cannot explain
I am at a loss rather
Could not decipher
What could it be?
I really wonder.
I sit in a corner
Casually I gather
as my thoughts meander
down I go yonder
I sulk and garner
Sure, it is a pain
I cannot feign
I see no gain.
Away from my home
a holiday it is in a way
being a month and more
I am out of home for long
hopping to strange places
back to the den to rest awhile
I resume the move very soon
become exhausted so quick
unknowingly arises a desire to return
as the comforts of my own home
so difficult to sideline and ignore
press me to get back fast
nothing much of a difficulty
I now spend time with the dear ones
loving and cheerful the day passes
yet I am not able to suppress my longing
the call becomes even more loud
I would be off in a few more days
back to my little haven
the space where I rejoice
the place I hold so close.
The east slog
all through the fog spins and blends
builds and blends
makes and toil
all go in a foil
while the west
takes it for a test
sells them on its own brand
Crafted, exquisite and grand
the eastern countries manufacture
the westerners go off in a stature
that is what I see in the malls
the eastern expertise gives a timid call
from where they are in the inner labels
as the artefacts lay there on the table
Well, it is the pain I experience
as I with moist eyes gather the inference
textiles and kitchenette,
hardware and other indents
carry the name of the nations
that lie in the eastern destinations.
Do they receive the proper compensation?
or they stay demure with paltry intimations.
Gosh! incidentally the sun rises in the east
Go atop the hill
if that be your will
sit there in solitude
would meet a beatitude
a course so much practical
could be not more inimical
as many crave to do nirvana
a status so hard to reach
I differ from the multitude
again you could see my attitude
any place wherever you be
no matter you be a busy bee
peace would be with you
once you withdraw from the crew
away you could be in the crowd
hearing nothing of the loud.
The chatter in loud synergy
would never sap your energy
you could be well within you
with eyes and ears open in true
never give a thought to that around
as they would keep you in bound
think not of any of them in a persist
this is the best way to exist.
The night watchman he is
say that he sits with eyes open
I have a one at home
who sits with half-closed eyes
starts to nod as the hours fly
snores loud as the midnight come
sleeps full as the wee hours descend
turns alert at the rise of dawn
stands cheerful and smart in the morn
Well! a duty bound officer in charge
pleased to have one with a fair charge
a figure in the watchman’s robe
a ploy to show off the house is secure
a note of vanity in me well explained.
The night watchman he is
always keeps vigil outside
goes around every half an hour
blows his whistle harsh
perhaps in a way to say
he is awake and alert
the sound is at its peak
when the night sets in
becomes very weak
while the dawn arrives
a show of fatigue very explicit
that be his routine all the year
being there for a decade now
a means to earn his bread
not a likely occupation anyway.
This being the most realistic attribute
as many other intricacies follow
with serious intonations in the go
The coolness in the surround
a precursor to a freeze in-depth
felt very much in the breeze
that is the phenomenon natural
but turns unbearably hot
the extremes take us with a beat
this is the formula for every deed
like the waves that flow high and low
the days turn dark and then glow
the moods swing up and down
men are quick to rise up and drown
the one becomes another soon
difficult to say anything for sure
whether it be a boon or a doom.
The indifference I find
the cold stare of a kind
the irreverence in action
seen in the throwaway notion
call I that an impertinence
not seen always in terms
become visible in realms
towards a certain sect
obvious in an intersect
while the receiver in real
has to remain passive in veil
otherwise a breakdown would result
followed by a commotional tumult
how long could one brook this attitude?
Well! has to live through in platitude
so as to maintain an equalibirium
Let this be a great theorem
framed by not the great Pythagoras
formed by a commoner with all guess.
It would be handy in the life game
a proven one with none others to blame.
Life is a comedy, you say
I differ from you anyway
it is a tragedy the old man refers
I have to the most defer
What is it? you query
I answer in a reverie.
it is neither this or that
but a combination intact.
You look at me curious
and cast a look dubious.
I smile at you lively
reply to you happily.
Life is joyful in youth
cheer it is in all truth.
It turns sad as years advance
sour it becomes by all chance
Life is heterogeneous.
Do I sound like a genius?
Not at all, in all possibility.
Never am I so, in the eventuality.
Think for a while
quoth my mother in style
I was upset in a way
things have gone astray
Lo! my mother interrupts
her wisdom disturbs.
Have I been ever rash?
there I see a flash
It is but foolish
I had not spoken my wish
It is my silence all through
rash it is in terms true
quietness is an arrogance
considered also as an irreverence
Well! that is me through and through
always to myself without a clue
the same to those far and near
even to my mother so dear.
Meenas Poems 