Meenas Poems
A small creature creates an irritation,
brings in a bothersome distraction,
inflicts a rare delusion,
leaves a nagging sensation.
It goes round the eyes,
perches itself over the nose,
sits on the cheeks like a dice,
hovers over the mouth in quick tries.
Driving it away poses a strain
getting rid of it is a gain,
Now is the time to tell you the main,
it is the common fly in its deign
Vampires existed in folk-lore.
They were depicted in tales of yore.
They created a bloody sore.
They sucked the blood to the core.
Mythology abounds with their horror portraits
Greeks and Romans spoke of their terror straight.
Christianity refers allegorically to their existence in trait.
Asians represent the being with hair hanging upright.
Vampires are no more myths in the real sense.
They are found almost in every place over the fence.
Oppression is a sign of drinking blood beyond the lens.
The powerful go about with unmindful impertinence.
The potent do play a havoc with rigour.
The cheats out beat them by their trigger.
Treachery is a connivance that creates a snigger.
Ruthlessness is an atrocity that condemns all others to a meagre.
There are innumerable sects of vampires in society.
As countless incidents contribute to their impropriety.
Folk-lore did not pass on anything without sobriety.
Nevertheless the stories of vampires kindle our anxiety.
The work is round the clock.
It goes smooth without a block.
It is lively beyond the lock.
It is diligently enrolled into a flock.
Thoughts go round and round the clock.
They gather strongly through the rock.
They never assume a deriding mock.
They oscillate stealthily in a tick tock.
They drive towards a legitimate dock.
The results show publicly round the clock.
Some signify a joyous stock.
Some also denote a sad stalk.
They propose an acceptance without a shock.
They incessantly revolve round the entire talk.
The world is governed by the clock.
Actions occur in an ad hoc.
The living is through an interlock.
Disaster creeps in when anything goes anti clock.
A facile move instills a glorious knock.
The word “more” makes you ponder.
More of anything is sacramental rather.
Desiring more is greed so ever.
Eating more is gluttony ever.
Drinking more is a vice forever.
Talking more is an insensible prattle moreover.
Working hard is an oppression in terms ever.
Fuming with anger is a crime whatsoever.
Passively patient is a negative virtue forever.
“More” jacks up greed with fervour.
“More” packs up values in a savour.
“More ” has more inferences than the eyes could rover.
Totally it is a claim of all things
A claim comprising everything.
Stocks and shares take the wing.
Land and property give a ring.
Gold and silver oscillate in a swing.
The claimant poses to be a King.
He wants for himself everything.
He amasses all with greed in the touching.
The others are left with a desolate reaching.
He enjoys the wealth with a great tweeting.
He leaves the rest in a dilemma wriggling.
This is found in corporate and in all dwellings.
Avarice gains predominance in all surroundings.
It dumps the world in a profound sinking.
It was a wait, very long wait.
It was an expectation, much expected.
It was a desire, most wished.
It was a thought, serious thought.
It was a solution, well solved.
It was a decision, carefully decided.
It was an inclusion, stealthily included.
It was a belief, strongly believed.
Well it was everything that comprised all things.
It is a sight to see the clouds gather.
They seem to dash against each other.
They attempt to pass over one another.
They are dark and bright all over.
The black clouds appear to jump over.
The bright ones seem to hover.
The dark clouds look full with moisture.
The bright clouds appear like fluffy flakes all over.
The moisture laden clouds try to fall as a shower.
The snow clouds instigate a stoppage as ever.
Which would triumph in the race as forever?
If the black one wins it is a boon to all whatsoever.
As it ushers copious rain and prosperity more so ever.
It was an exchange,
Neither dealing with currency in a range.
Nor involving a
barter all the same.
It was an exchange,
Away from the economy in a range,
Far away from the mundane all the same.
It was an exchange.
Across the deep blue ocean in a range,
Covering thousands of kilometers all the same.
It was an exchange,
Where age did not come into the range,
Where affection stood above all the same.
It was an exchange ,
Where the grandson poured out his thoughts in a range,
Where the grandmother listened mesmerised all the same.
Then it is not an exchange,
You might blindly say in a range,
Yet it was sharing of feelings in a manner strange.
Up and down we go
What for we do not know?
Here and there we see
What for we do not know?
Right and left we move
What for we do not know?
Gain and loss we make
What for we do not know?
Earn and spend we do
What for we do not know?
Good and bad we commit
What for we do not know?
Love and hate we relate
What for we do not know?
Soft and sharp we speak
What for we do no know?
Kind and cruel we pose
What for we do not know?
Smile and weep we react
What for we do not know?
Happy and sad we be
What for we do not know?
Live and 
die we interpret
What for we do not know?
It was a search.
It was a thorough search,
leaving everyone in the lurch.
It was a raid.
It was a thorough raid,
exposing everything that was discreetly laid.
It was an investigation.
It was a thorough investigation,
unravelling everything from the closely conceived distribution.
It was an exposition.
It was a thorough exposition,
laying bare the well conceited deviations.
It was a fraudulent.
It was a thorough fraudulent,
directing to an unscrupulous deceiving indulgence.
It taught a lesson.
It was a moral lesson.
delivering that integrity has a beautiful designation.
Meenas Poems 