Meenas PoemsThe days fly
with no time
as I try
to make them chime
the days see no flutter
I do many a trick
one being an incessant chatter
it does not click
I attempt to smile pleasantly
still it works not
I then go to help willingly
it turns a lot
my days look meaningful
my
life has become wonderful.
Conversations go on endlessly
with never-dying interest
What do they talk about?
with such rapture in and out
makes me wonder all throughout
as I remain an outcast
away from the normal cast
listening to what they say
as I feel given two ears in a way
shows that we have to extend 
the hearing
and restrict the talking
None pay heed to me
thinking I am a dummy
or more so a mummy
bereft of expression
and demanding impression.
So goes on the talking forever
ending up in a loud chatter
devolving into a noisy clatter
releasing by far nothing.
The birds twitter.
Their notes are not bitter.
The tune is a flatter.
The monkeys chatter.
Their talk does not matter.
The noise is an annoying banter.
Men act as if in a theatre.
Their behaviour is a conspiring falter.
Hate to go out mostly,
Find solace at home,
The incessant chatter disillusions,
The irrelevant gossip disenchants,
The eagle like stare penetrates,
The stinging words pierce,
The sharp sneer kills,
Cause not like to get out,
Cause stay at home renders peace.
Tiny dew drops shine like diamonds ,
They oscillate over the fragile green grass,
Shimmering in the glistening sunrise,
A beauty not to miss every morn.
Little buds peep out from the nodules,
They are in red, rose and blue,
Dancing in the morning breeze,
A beauty not to miss every morn.
Small children walk up the road to school,
They chuckle and chatter as they move,
Exchanging friendly gestures and pep talk,
A beauty not to miss every morn.
The glory of the day lies not in calls,
The charm of the hour is not based on tries,
The contentment rests on impressive sights,
That take us to infinite heights.
The beauty of the morn is not to be missed,
It has to be repeatedly cherished,
The dew drops, bud and child are personifications,
Of transcendental truth and exuberant bliss.
Meenas Poems 