Meenas PoemsAnother day more
with the sun rise
and a sun set
work and sleep
intervened by happenings
could make you happy
would make yo unhappy
the day that was
the day that is
the day that would be
look more or less alike
but for the age
of you and of me
increases with a mark
a sag and a wrinkle
greying and a wobbling
as you walk towards the destination.
A tight fist holds the neck
the throat gets stuck
unable to move could only buck
strangle comes into force
has not been in the course
never did occur in the flow
could anyone expect it with a know
impossible quoth the mind
being a differential kind
could not lead the blind
well, strangling unmindfully
the fist fastens to it relentlessly
the throat is chocked to the core
the voice dies down with a roar
could that be the endI tremble
no, that is only the preamble
the metaphor strikes apart
the bad that shows up be the belief
with a gaudy sense of relief
uncermoniously is bellowed down
trapped and massacres by the drone
a literal strangle looks mild
the deep insight into the nuances is filed
strangle is a battle fought with no luck
a submission more or less like a tame duck.
They fleece
irrespective in tease
high they talk
out of the way they walk
extract much
great as such
lash with words
tie with threads
grisly figures
terribly trigger
a fear and a throb
clear in a flop
strangle down the throat
keep away from the float
a threat similar to disaster
casting a depression
remitting a digression
that way they extract
the proceeds mount up
grace be to them
blessed they are
may their tribe increase.
Up and down
I go
not with a frown
I bow
forward and backward
I shuttle
never in a wayward
I buckle
before in great speed
I went.
of late in a slow walk
I tread.
yet in the pace
I move
a change is there
I know
will go on till the end
I am sure.
Day after tomorrow
and the day before yesterday
the terms look smart 
being specific of the days.
Today and yesterday
with the call on tomorrow
gain speed and pass away
carry well with an allow.
So years roll by
with months in the fold
with them go the days
with a speed untold.
Been born a few months back
could become a year old
it is already in a pack
another six months in hold.
Well, that is how we decipher
with the time waiting for none
we move about in eager
soon our work is done.
Young once we were
adults in the middle
now old as we are
so goes the riddle.
It is the age that increases
grows rapidly in no time
others increase and decrease
not the age at any time.
I have not earned a penny
nor won a single penny
been with the family for years
children and husband near
never had a thought to slog
sat at home like a log.
It is a thought out of time
asI hear my death bell chime
I pine for not having earned
know it is too late to yearn
still my mind allows me not at peace
I look at my worn out hands in a tease.
Could I make up for the lost?
My twilight years runs fast
before I close my eyes
I want to earn a few paise
would I be able to do?
it is something out of the blue.
That be the age they say
the degeneration in a way
the physical deterioration
the mental disorientation
run simultaneously with a reference
almost instantly without deference
before one could realize
the set back has grown in size
the joints suffer in excess
the memory slips in a stress
there you are in a hold
gracefully go with a fold
joyfully pass into the cloud
with saying nothing aloud.
The resemblance strikes much
a father and son as such
look similar in features and physic
mannerism takes the lead in a trick
the significance is so obstinate
takes one by a seize in an instant
realization dawns a little late
the age factor comes in straight
the difference shows 
up quick
that be a study in terms alike.
The allegations at an age
the criticism at a period
the attack at a time
when the spirits are down
cause a havoc unbearable.
Never have seen smooth sail
Never have experienced a flow
Never have heard a kind word
all through the days hay and old.
The scathe and scorn in volumes
scrap the heart of its tenderness
the sore is so ulcerative
it bleeds internally copiously.
The haemorrhage accounts for a stumble
a withdrawal from the kith and kin
might be also from the child too
as it clogs and tarnishes the feel.
The cast away from society at large
the pull away from the near and dear
makes one find solace in the lifeless
that of read and write in design.
The words pop out with animation
laugh and talk with cheer
console with a smothering rhythm
care with cordial solicitation.
I am going to be ten
jolly well cries my grand-daughter.
I am going to be twenty
cries my nephew with joy.
I would be thirty plus
beams my son with pride.
I am turning forty
tells my brother softly.
I am on my way to fifty
speaks my cousin meekly.
Well, I would be sixty soon
say I demurely .
Well as the age goes
the people grow
so do their voice show
from high to low
with a mellow
that be the go
as years flow
taking us nearer to the grave
turning stoic and brave.
Meenas Poems 