Meenas Poems

It is been few days hence
I thought of my mother,
a few years since
I saw my sister.
a few decades almost
I spoke to my brothers ,
being only the few
that counts as I grow
I cease deliberating
on those around me
a sort of withdrawal
being an indulgence has set in
I do not think of myself
for that matter.

It is a personification 
that I love, one of being 
exactly like a mother
more so as the age advances, the mother’s characteristics  grow more pronounced.

Not relying on others 
I take myself as an instance
where I find I turn like my mom 
both in looks and attitude. 
Way before I was a different 
from her in every aspect/

Is it the genetics that play? 
I am  unable to assess,
friends and relations 
identified the similarities 
first, I negated their perception.
saying they are wrong.

Of recent , while I 
cross a mirror, the reflection
 makes me jump, looks 
as though mom is walking
same could be felt  in 
the voice while  I talk.

Curious it sounds, but true
I am  a replica of her
in certain distinct features, 
but fall short of her when equated she surpasses in skills unknown to me surmounts in  exercising control.

The rainfall taps on the ground
thud, thud it goes,
sonorous as it could be
a heavy downpour,

The concrete roofed solid houses
in the vicinity provide no base for
knock knocking so the rain falls
fairly dumb on them,

The garden becomes inundated
as the rain comes down
heavily every evening
these four days,

the lawn remains soaked
the flower beds are immersed t
the flowers stay drenched
while the leaves turn green

ridden off the dust
that has piled for weeks
the mornings take
a fresh look with the heat
well under control.

The bud and the flower
one tightly closed.
the other with petals open
seen on a plant with a thick
brown stem, the green leaves
encircle them secure.

A botanical growth illustrative
of mankind, where the child
sweet and tender grows
to be an adult mature
born out of a mother
the patriarchal hegemony
exerts a dominance.

The flower brings joy,
Its bright hue exalts
the pastel shades exult.
keep blooming for a day or two
then wither and fall, subtly
proposing the impermanence
of the mortal world.

Bright like a moon
she descends the stairs
a graceful elegance I behold.

She tip toes to the hall
where the guests are
greets them with poise.

She is Nethra with
beautiful eyes, her name
marks the same.

The lovely girl walks
around with a smile
one as radiant as the Sun.

Those in the hall get caught
by her charming simplicity
go crazy,

Nethra, as one would imagine
is not a teen ager, she is
a five year old.

How did she acquire
so much of loveliness?
the assembly stares

in amazement, Nethra
steals the show. Her smile
turns a winner.

Torn between compulsions and  idealism 
 I lose track, thinking of one 
doing another, leaving both halfway
I attend to another duty, more or less 
 dancing to the circumstances.

My garden best expresses me,
once a semblance of Eden gardens,
appears parched,  with unkempt grass
 flower beds  stand without flowers.

 These happening more  recently
  I  turn into a bundle of contradictions,
thrown out of gear, I  delineate   
 a Hamlet in character.

I sound alien to me, My orderliness, 
discipline are things of the past
 I remain confused, terse 
animating the quixotic in all its guise.

I look at  my driveway, Abounds 
with thorns and thistles, leaves 
and twigs lying in heaps 
rotting in decay.

Twilight fascinates
 one of dimness 
and of brightness
the sun turning orange
goes down the lane
 submerging into 
the blue ocean.

Dusk as it is better 
known looks a bit 
husky, men returning 
home after days work
eyes throwing an exhaustion
the lights in the patio greet
with moderate brilliance.

A juxtaposition  as seen
of day and night, white and grey 
intermixed, the redness of the soleil 
sun pales  in no time, leaving 
a pallor of the radiance, a similarity 
to the aging phenomenon  as felt.

Of late, I am becoming more choosy
specially towards food.
Like to have garam and salt a pinch more
than the usual.

Lunch, inclusive of rice, broth and veggies,
force me to turn away absolutely.
I nibble and compensate with plain
curd. The reluctance is so demanding
that I crave for snacks in the evenings.

I settle for fries, steamed rice puddings
engaging the maid to do another round.
She does with a smile. Is she pretending?
my mind prods.

Not once I have heard her mumble
Might be because she displays inadequacy
in cooking Oh! yes! this could be the cause
of my dislike for elaborate afternoon meals.
I appease my palate and mind at the same time,

It is about eating
that one of the regular
consuming food
on the go.

The three siblings
one eats more ,
the other even more
the third one less.

So saying of inheritance
the one who partakes most
sets aside the most for him

The second who likes
to have the cake and pie
enjoys the best of all.

The third one who nibbles
has to be satisfied with the least
accused by others

as possessing the greatest share
in spite of having enjoyed
the minimum.

A sneeze causes a fear,
cough turns a terror
fever becomes an horror
pain sets an alarm.

The most ordinary ailments
pose a danger. Man is
helpless. Never before he
dreamt they would transform so.

Sitting indoors with
face partly masked
hands gloved, frequently
washing hands with soap.

disinfecting ones which
come in contact, letters,
vegetables, fruits, grocery,
medicine, parcels, television,

distancing from loved ones,
awry of embracing
one’s own child, confined
for months together,

meeting none, disallowed
to enjoy sun rise, moon, shine
star twinkle , oceans roar, relish
the greenery,

the walls remain lifeless,
books turn a bore,
the much desired internet
entraps with a fierce clutch.

Dismayed he reduces to a skeleton
like self, groping in the interiors
a ghost of what he was
an year back.