Meenas PoemsThe weather is pleasant.
Rains and temperature drop
make the days lovely.
Used to bright sunshine
being humid, November
is cool and calm.
The one defective part
is the onset of infections.
The onslaught is deplorable.
Fever, dengue
and swine flu abound
an appalling situation.
The cyclones add to the misery
with landslides and roof collapse
along with loss of lives..
Happiness and grief
seamlessly merge.
A sequence less known.
Symbolic of life
which holds
success and failure
The ship sails
on the waters
braving the storm
fearing a wreck.
Sustains and survives
reaches the shore
people alight
ill at ease.
The life of us all
likened to a ship
a struggle all the way
onerous to play.
Workshopping the poems
destroys the originality
the flow is thwarted
a strained read
never be the best poem.
The rigour triggers
the discipline swaggers
the practice alters
the exercise refers
thus goes the day
with a hard work
in rapt attention
not being a day
goes through all days
be that my life
could I deem it as a strife?
The waves rise up
strike the banks atop
with a force unknown.
The waves bow down
retreat with not a frown
with a force unknown.
They go forward and backward
almost not towards
with a force unknown.
They do not lie dormant
even for a moment
being a force unknown.
Once they flow with an ease
one of a resigned please
being a force unknown.
Else they flow with a tense
one of great violence
being a force unknown.
That be their nature known
unpredictable in tone
being a force unknown.
Waves do symbolically refer life
with fortunes and mishaps in strife
being one of unknown,
It is been a day of travel
road and air in all
hours together nonstop
a climb and a get down on top
an embark and a disembark
all in a day’s arc
a trial happens all through
once in a month being a due
cannot avoid being a place of business
well, it has become a routine in a sense
need I to undertake to keep my pot boil
have to put an extra efforts of toil
that being the turn of events in the years recent
I ply up and down to live in a way decent.
Reblogged from poesyon.blogspot.com
The move frequent
sets a trend of disassociation
comprises a belonging
being nowhere .
A shift so often
delivers a state of indifference
deciphers a characteristic
of not so an attachment.
A here and there living
releases an insecurity
registers not a continuity
a drift of the soul.
The rose is beautiful
petals are soft and wonderful
silky and shining being an attraction
so goes the general description.
The rose is tender
protect it from any offender
held harsh crumbles and falls
could this be another call?
Life is beautiful
look at it with eyes wonderful
flaws turn into a glossy gleam
nothing strikes the beam.
Life is tender
tempers and anger being the offenders
bridle the anger as much as you could
never try to speak rude .
Roses dance in the air
rose, red and blue in all
life blossoms in different hues
rose and red green and blue.
Not I sing a song of praise
nor I sit and watch it rise
rose and life seen together
professes a metaphorical refer.
The morning rise
to a tranquility
could never be anymore
as the roads turn busy
before the sun could peep.
The afternoon siesta
to a sleep
could never be anymore
as the roads remain busy
spite of the scorching sun.
The evening walk
to tone up the physic
could never be anymore
as the roads are still busy
spite of the partial darkness.
The night slumber
to a fantastic sleep
could never be anymore
as the roads continue to be busy
overwhelming the stillness around.
Not knowing what to do
and where to go
as it could never be anymore
the roads of life teem all through
letting out not a break in the journey
Friendless and foeless
he lives in a land remote
knows none that much
a quiet life as such.
Not bothersome or worrisome
he lives in a land remote
all to himself as much
a quiet life as such.
Graceful and wonderful
he lives in a land remote
with poise as much
a quiet life as such.
Never inquisitive nor a detective
he lives in a land remote
with no curiosity as much
a quiet life as such.
Trouble free and carefree
he lives in a land remote
with no burden as much
a quiet life as such.
Meenas Poems 