Meenas PoemsThe other side of the fence
appears green.
Glittery it looks
from a distance.
That is the magic
of the eye.
The flaws turn
invisible.
They are beyond
scrutiny.
The side opposite
one in the proximity
presents itself shabby.
The holes and folds
show a disarray.
That being the trick
of the eye.
The erroneous
get magnified.
They are observed
with diligence.
Could say,
The eye resorts
to a play eluding
and deluding the truth.
go for days. Unpredictable
Incessant and intermittent,
Drizzle and torrential
The garden is flooded.
Holding the sari high
in one hand, with an
umbrella in the other,
walk to pick the newspapers.
The paper man throws
the dailies with skill.If allowed
is sure to win gold
in Olympics
Next comes the heavily clothed,
milkman. His call is loud
and firm, Replicates the
voice of a cricket umpire
I run to take the milk bottle
one between the gate
and the porch.He swirls round
and speeds..Six runs!
The rains progress
from heavy to wild
I perceive with awe.
Thunder and lightning follow.
Weather forecast for the day
is it would be warm and dry.
With my eyes on the news
I stumble. Knock the bottle.
A crash! The bottle and I.
The paper floats.
Milk spills, flows.
I lie flat on the floor.
Water gushes.
Rains continue.
Diwali is around.
The revelry has begun.
Crackers are aloud.
Deafening to the element,
the heart seems to jump out.
Babies whimper out of fear.
The display of lights is vivid.
“Pushvanam” or flower pots
go up the sky. Delightful to watch.
The “Chakra” goes in circles
emits a spectrum of colours.
Spectacular to perceive.
The one like a snake
hisses and swirls
an exact replica of the venomous.
The planes take the flight
while the rockets rise, throw out sparkles
then fall dumb.
The oil lamps or diyas
not garish like the electric counterparts.
emulate modesty.
Diwali is the win of the righteous.
Sin is annihilated. Treason is struck down.
A belief that runs for centuries. It is a myth.
Contrary to the faith evil is rampant.
Murder, shooting, rape and assaults
grow unbounded.
Be it Diwali, Christmas or Ramadan,
should resonate triumph over evil,
demonstrate an empty show.
Diwali inspires indulgence.
Illustrates extravaganza.
Vanity out beats piety.
Saddening. Hopes turn into despair.
The earth rotates on its own axis,
directionless.
,
It is vacation.
We go to Coonoor,
a quiet town in the Nilgiris.
Mother and the six of us
travel in a blue plymouth
early in the morning.
Have breakfast under a big neem tree
after a two hour drive. The “idlis”
with chutney appease our hunger.
The hills appear. We negotiate
each hairpin bend slowly
while two of us turn sick.
The driver halts.To ease
our nausea we take a stròll.
Once we are better the journey resumes.
We cross Sims Park, pass Pasteur Institute,
drive through Porter’s Avenue . Our Bungalow
Mostyn Park stands majestic.
Tired, we have a quick shower
devour the roti and potatoes
and in a moment fall into a slumber.
The very next day we go up the hills,
roll in the grass, a pony ride awaits,
climb the plum tree.
Mom has a large garden. The sprawling lawns
and the flower beds win Governor’s trophy.
The kitchen garden cliinches the rolling shield.
We eat a lot, turn rosy and grow sideways.
It is time to go back as the schools will reopen.
The blue plymouth comes to the porch.
the peacocks dance,
round and round they go,
hop and jump, trot and pause
step up and step down
spread their turquoise feàther
flourscent it shines. The blue hue
in the neck, a contrast to the glitter
moderates the eye catching glory.
pick and peck, loiter and chatter
a lively presence all the more.
It is in my home,
the crows caw in the morning
black and blue they roam
grabs the insects, clear the garden
of pests. A friend though not
beautiful.
It is in my home
the cats stealthily climb
walk on the wall, cast
a sly look on me. Brown
and white stripes prominent
watch my home all the day.
It is in my home,
the sparrows, one, two
and three come swiping down
chirp and cackle, fly low and high.
It is in my home, I live
do not hear the shouts
and laughter of my sons,
nor see them play, cycle
and cry ” Ma, I am hurt,
I have won, I am the Champion”.
It is in my home
I long to see them
nestle close to me.
The meesages
I find in WhatsApp
from people not learned
bewilders.
Those who do not know
the fundamentals post
numerous info. Discover
they are mere uploads.
What fun do they have?
Filling without understanding.
Ask them to interpret.
They will look at you.
Many will not know to read.
They continue the forwarding
with zeal. Create groups
It turns cheap.
Applications are developed
for meaningful interactions.
Never to copy and paste.
Technology is abused.
rainy, wet, cold
to dry, desert like warmth
sweeps through the town.
Unpredictable.
The day before rains were heavy.
Now the sun shines bright.
Oh! the vagaries of nature
keep one in apprehension
What could be next?
Earthquakes in Indonesia,
floods in Kerala,
hurricane in Florida
Hundreds die.
Thousands lose their shelter.
Many children orphaned.
Aged left helpless.
It is saddening.
Heart wrenching.
Whom to blame?
Who should be accused?
The day draws to a close.
Nothing much happened.
It is the weekend.
Ĺethargy sets in.
The rains have gone on leave.
May come with a thump
on Monday.
Ĺanguishing I take a stroll.
The lane is empty. Quietness.
I am alone in the world, I feel.
It is peace. The one called
solititude.
Once in a week, I experience
such a harmony. No noise
either external or internal.
The body is at rest, so does
the mind.
Monday starts with a gusto.
Resume with a flourish.
It is move everywhere,
with the rains in force.
A phenomenon.
The mental derivatives
that hid under the cloud
instigate and agitate
a restlessness settles.
Ìnfectious.
With haste I perform,
the legs not in one place.
Do I execute with perfection?
Not to the exact. I do a few.
Might turn a Creation.
Have a cruel memory.
A boon and a bane.
I remember dates and time
Vivid pictures of the events
flow as in a slide show.
They bring both pleasant
and disturbing thoughts.
The more I wish to forget,
the more they augument.
Forgetfulness surfaces
as one gets old, Perhaps
I am an exception,
I seem not to lose track.
With a sharp memory
I live. A blessing, I
would say. A gift, a reward
I can go on, being a recollection
of words I learnt in school.
Intact and fastened I fly. Of late, sleep overtakes me whenever I travel, be it any mode of transport. Once the vehicle gains momentum I lose myself. I am in deep slumber. Woken by the gentle call of the hostess, I look around and could not relate to the circumstances that brought me here. I accept the vegan meals served. Take a bite. Then Iremember the snacks I had packed w hich is in the cloth bag. I get up and pull the bag out. Devour the crunchy snacks. The flight is quiet except for occasional walk throughs.
I resume the siesta. In the middle wake up to an announcement. Thecplane will land in another twenty minutes. “Oh! Where I am heading to?”. I am dazed. Try to recollect the events that have led to this journey. However much I attempt I cannot makec out.
The plane descends. The pilot manouevers and lands with discreet ease. We diembark and march our way to the Immigration. Standing in the queue I once again take efforts to find out the reasons for my long travel. Before I could reach the tangible clue, the officer shouts, “Next”. I cross the yellow line. The officer looks at me. HIS eyes twinkle and I perceive a smile which progresses to a guffaw. ” My lady, what are you doing in this part of the world?”. I smile. He continues, “Do you know English?”. I nod. He retorts, “you do not know to say yes, but have come to this land from India all alone.”. I realise only now that I had flown by myself, Again I smile at him. Annoyed mumbles and looks at my passport. Says ” I cannot deny entry as the credentials are perfect”. I thank him inchaste English. It is my chance to return his derogation .
I move towards the gate. Blind to where Ihave to go. It is midnight. The wind is heavy. I wrap myself with pallu of my saree. The cold bites. Few yards away, I spot an Accor Hotel. Fortunate to check in, I have a quick shower. The bath enboldens and I sleep with the heater on.
The sun peeps through the windows. I prepare for the adventure. The city, I am in, is Melbourne. I vacate my room and at the porchI switch on the Wys application, track the places to visit.Pushing my box I catch the tram and off I go. The tram ride is an experience. I visit the Botanical gardens, then witness a cricket test match in Melbourne cricket Stadium. In the evening sat by the Yarra river.The serenity is imposing.
The Great Ocean Drive fascinate. The scenario with the hills and sea on either side delivers a rhapsodical exuberance. The twelve apostles stand in the sea. They seem to preach. The Philiph Island is beautiful. The entry of the penguins, from the depths,invigorates. They rush in pairs, in dozens, in scores and finalyy hundreds.
Great! I am done. Have explored Melbourne without any help. I is a blind expedition.
Traversed without an idea. Completed the trip with a purpose.
That be me. That is Meena. I have achieved.
#TheBlindList and #Say YesToTheWorld
Meenas Poems 