Meenas PoemsReading became an obsession
taking me away from the mundane
forgetting the earthly distraction
making me in a way sane
away from the world of inaction
where the untenable reigns
almost to a hypnotic reaction
converting achievements to wane
arresting progress in a digression
posing a life as a bane.
Carefully chosen
with no hasten
scrupulously picked
with a deliberated tick
exclusively crafted.
All for my son’s marriage
which became a rage
rising up to a delight
attracting everyone’s sight
a gift rare to find.
Desiring the same choice
as it commanded a poise
provoking everyone to distribute
the same gift with an attribute
that of exclusiveness .
Helpless I stand now
as I do not know
how to say no
as the cost might rattle
the buyers mood.
Requests come pouring
asking for a facilitating
how am I going to work?
causes a worried irk
know not how to cross over?
Mountains became slopes
slopes turn into lands
lands get 
converted into furrows
furrows look like pits
pits slowly disappear
nothing more is seen.
Celebrations all through life
with birthdays coming every year
praying to God for extra years
well , what to say at the age of sixty
that being a little more understandable
as now intense prayers for extension
goes ahead at the age of seventy
followed by eighty, ninety and hundred
not in a duration of a decade
but going by every year from sixty
and even before the age of that
with the fifty-eight, fifty-nine
going to temples and conducting poojas
with homams and abhishekams
inviting relatives and friends
laying the table and throwing out a feast
not for lunch but for days together
making people sit and watch the religious function
has become the fashion in my part of India
where people’s greed has become extraneous
wanting to become immortal and prosperous
and enjoy the life altogether with a longevity
.
there blows 
a storm in the west
hitting against the shores of the east
crossing north south in test.
Mountains are in crumbles
Oceans are up in trembles.
Land has become a gamble.
Rivers are in shambles
The land which grew grains
looks a desert without rains.
Hills which appeared magnificent
have lost their translucent.
The Seas which were soft
have risen up to great lofts.
The rivers’ were transparent
now express shabbiness apparent.
The cause for such situation
be found in the enunciation
where man’s greed is manifested
with every other resource being inflicted.
An orphan is born out of mother
becoming so is a gruesome bother
losing her prematurely is a way
going by the incidents fatal in stay
she throwing the child wantonly
assumes a notion 
deliberately
the former being a natural event
the latter becoming a defiant
that being the result of lust
fearing to give name in best
discarding the new-born as rust
the child becomes an orphan in no age
grows up steadily in the orphanage
with his mother living well with another
while his father raising a family with the other
the little one grows up untended in default.
Money taking the upper part
wherein we know not in short.
overtaking the factual to a degree
beheading truth in a steady
gobbling the reality fully
implicating a riot gleefully
leading to a destruction entirely
which is not seen immediately
but would surface in a while slowly
showing the doers their callousness
while they being exposed in greatness
with that the manipulation of money power
will never stop but go in strides in a hover
sealing the community to a futureless destiny.
Contests and competitions
bring in a lively manifestation
of prize money
Publishing becomes serious
Writing is always 
tedious
With a blog there is a reach
little over that it becomes a breach
getting verses in print
looks like a great stint
yet poets want to go across
irrespective of the toss
which might bring a repute
though there is a dispute
that fiction receives a welcome
poems bring no income
poetry still remains for a few
lighting up those who love it true
the publishing takes different forms
that of self and recognised norms
while the queue to get published is long
opting for self publishing becomes strong
with the money to invest possible
nothing goes on in this world as impossible.
Meenas Poems 