Meenas Poems
The disturbed man
disturbs all
with his feverish mind
and with his rash actions.
He shouts and cries
slams and slaps
dashes and bashes
overturns and overthrows.
It is hard to settle him
hard to make him realise
difficult to reconcile
and bring him back to normal.
At times we feel compassionate
most times we disdain him
for his distraughtness
an unpleasantness surrounds
I saw a child
lying in the pavement
sucking his thumbs
with unkempt hair
and gaunt eyes
sulking in the sun.
The parents were squatting
beside the poor child
engaged in wordy duels
also looking very thin
the father disoriented
the mother bearing another child.
The child goes without nutrition
and the one to come would have to
face the same state going with nothing
Wherein lies the fault ? i deliberate.
How could such children be taken care off.?
When would the poor become comfortable?
It is a likelihood of proximity.
Might be a fallacy of divinity.
Calling for an immediate spontaneity.
Preceded by a tantalising agitation.
Followed by a vigorous affectation.
Spurred by a disoriented infusion.
The eyes wink in a speedy flutter.
The lips move in a strange clatter.
Words surge in and out in fine chatter.
The crowd throngs in a feverish momentum.
Eager to listen to the frenzied dictum.
Holding their breath they await the referendum.
Gradually the letters decipher into an ultimatum.
The words are strung to form a verbatim.
The wordy garland carries a prediction of events.
It is impregnate with a content.
The belief is beyond admission.
Well, it is an individual decision.
Going by it is a blind faith.
It is obviously a myth.
Yet, it has an arterial appeal.
It penetrates through the circulation.
Insinuating a deep perpetuation.
They conjoin
the mind and body in integration.
It is an experience thrilling, no doubt
Yet, it lacks an authenticity in stout.
Bottling up the emotions altogether,
Controlling the tears altogether,
Suppressing the sobs altogether,
She disappeared from the scene altogether.
The disruptive words scathed her almost.
The evil looks disarmed her almost.
The back bites scaled her down almost.
She, dishevelled,
ran in speed almost.
The hurt locked her in solitude.
The discomfort pushed her to ineptitude.
The bruise compelled her to change the attitude.
She, disoriented, lay down in platitude.
To pull her out of despondency was a hard task.
To restore her to normalcy was a difficult task.
Alas! she had to undergo a petulant task.
The come back would be an impossible task.
Meenas Poems 