Meenas PoemsInto the world of serfdom
I awake.
Into the world of delirium
I rise.
Into the world of hatred
I see.
Into the world of audacity
I go through.
Into the world of scorn
I am put in.
Into the world of contempt
I am pushed through.
Into the world of envy
I live through
That be the world I perceive
That is the world I look around
That would be not be sound
But that is what is found.
A mind which cannot rest at ease
involves itself in gossip limitless
talking ill of others is one way
slandering unmindful is another way.
Why and what makes me do so?
makes one wonder ever so.
That mind should be extremely disturbed
with issues that keep it constantly perturbed
either by a heavy irrevocable financial loss
or by erroneous repeated flaws.
The monetary part sends a shiver
while the mental agony sets in a quiver.
Talking incessantly about a person
whom you do not like for no reason
impressively tells that you are jealous
of he being progressive and prosperous
and wish to inflict a dent to his image
by reversing his trend by a senseless barrage.
A bout of anger empowered her
It nearly paralysed her.
The nerves rolled up violently.
Delirium seized her vigorously.
Damn it! she shouted as loud as she could.
She swears and curses as much as she could.
She stutters and mumbles as long as I could.
She staggers out as slow as she could.
She sees a circle of fire around her.
It is burning high encircling her.
It is not the real fire that holds her.
It is the heaving and sighing that kills her.
Yet, she is not reigning aplomb and high
She is struggling to make ends meet with a try.
She lives away from gossip and schemes almost shy.
Her manifestations and gestures perch her above sky.
Is it wrong to live with pride? she quoth.
Is it a sin to detach from the crowd? she loathes.
Is it treason to survive within means? she froths.
Nay not, my child, live as righteously as you could, I console.
The world finds happiness in jeering the noble.
It mocks at the efforts of the able.
How are we going to label?
The provocations make us unstable.
When things go fine,
Grapes are sweet,
When things turn bad,
Grapes are sour.
Till there is a likeness,
The human approach differs,
The gentle behaviour retorts,
With the turn of events.
There is no predictability ,
To Man’s action.
There is no formality,
To Man’s thoughts.
The mind wanders in length
The tongue wags in magnitude
The mouth swears in excess
The heart spites in intensity.
The equilibrium is disturbed,
The balance is tilted,
There is an upturn,
There is a raging storm.
Meenas Poems 