Meenas Poems

Living in unsure days,
with every move
being monitored,
one of going out
has become impossible,
the other being indoor
seeing none, washing
the hands how much times
one can, breathing
through a mask,
talking through the same,
the saliva circulates,
hands within the gloves.
one looks like a robot,
with the eyes revealing
a feeling of helplessness,
the world moves on
months together
with infected, recovered
and fatal.

She, a senior,
lives alone in a big city.
Has no help. Never attempts
to hire one, .unlike me
who gets upset when the cook
does not turn for work.

She owns no vehicle. Makes sure
to attend every festival,
celebrations on time.
Walks briskly, dines out,
travels in trains and buses,as much of
it looks fresh as a May morning.

I look at her with awe,
try to be like her alert
and agile. I am not a match
to her at any cost. I need
comfort at all places.so much
resemble a dull wintry sky.

The contrast seems so marked.
She, in her eighties, is an inspiration.
Have never seen her sulk, nor find
her caring, It is her life , she says,
Lives as she wishes unperturbed
of what other’s say.

It is disturbing,
calls from those
who work for me
and who have retired,
asking for help.

The one asks as a loan
the other as aid,
Unable to say no.
I transfer considerable
amount.

Engaging them with tasks
making wooden and cement
artifacts , painting them
beautifully would bring revenue.
A good lead.

They have to be motivated.
Purchasing raw material
requires money. The finished
ones should be sold. Another
process demanding attention.

My heart goes out to them.
Having access to funds, I can
involve them to manufacture.
Marketing needs proficiency.
I am not so good.

I see the world
through the windows
though the the doors are ajar.

The empty roads,
the silence that reign
scare me.

I withdraw quick.
Look inward
hear no noise.

Terrified,
I settle with a book
turns out to be a crime fiction..

Deceit followed by murder
is the theme sends
fear down my spine.

I shut the book, doze
wake up to an announcement
down the lane.

It is a loud one ordering
people to stay inside,
for their own safety.

Police , at every junction,
blow the whistle, slam
the vehicles that cross.

Corona spreads like fire.
Disillusioned I close the windows
and lock the doors.

The panic seems infectious,
frequent washing of hands,
social distancing and masks
become part of life.

Drying my hands in the ends of
my sari, I enter the parlour from
the kitchen. Just in time the mobile goes.
Annuar, my former chauffeur,
breaks down sobbing.

As being my habit, I cut theline
and call him back, I do not wish
my staff to pay for the call.
He tells for days he has been
eating only once a day.

He is an entrepreneur.
What could have happened?
The pandemic and the lockdown
have ruined life, one inflicts
illness, the other deprives
the spirit. Man at his wit’s end.

Compassion overwhelms.
Millionaires extend cash.
It is kind from the rest.
Philanthropy at its best.
Governance distributes both.

The enforced stay at home
brings a lot of woes.
The reach of support is limited
The system cannot take care
of the entire community.

nor could supplement
the income of the wage earners.
A month and more of curfew
knocks the community down.
Most go without food.

The children starve,
the aged bear hunger.
Adults remain helpless,
unable to go to work.
The deadly virus spreads like fire,

Partial lifting of lock down
will bring consolation.Men
should not succumb to idleness.
Responsibility ensures sensibility
where generosity falters.

Work started with an impetus
pauses for reasons beyond.
disoriented I feel.

It is but depressing
as the days go by
without any event.

“Tomorrow will be better”,
I tell myself. That is how
I reconcile.

The day dawns
with little light
turns dark very soon.

A pain springs from nowhere
enough to make me
an invalid.

I pass the days
with hope and frustration
I sleep and wake.

I am familiar
with a group,
typically slow witted,

who engage in stretching
their area from
feet to miles,

who do not miss
a count, manipulating
hundreds to millions,

getting to know them
I find them shallow
possessing no skill,

a bundle of braggers
who camouflage ignorance
with preposterous talk.

it is turning an ordeal,
the day to day menu,
with my cook in self
quarantine for 40 days,
while the usual isolation
is only fourteen, he sets his time
went home in haste
much before the lockdown,

He keeps calling me ealternate day
for money. He wants to be safe
not bothered about my hardship.
He sends his bank account number,
without the bank’s name, branch location.
He fails to understand they are important
for transactions, insists the number will do,
as he is the headman of the village.

I give up. Remain unperturbed,
as he has got his salary a fortnight ahead.
Back in the kitchenI break my head
as to what should I prepare
for dinner. Quickly, I make a chutney,
desirous to come out as soon as I can.
Sweating, I hurry to my parlour,
recline on the couch, Ayyo ! I sigh.

I like silence
where I could hear
the clock tick,

love solitude
where I could talk
to myself.

keep smiling
where I could
hide my feelings.

It is quietude
that speaks
volumes.

It is withdrawal
that experiences
in depth,

It is warmth
that transcends
beyond.