Meenas PoemsThat 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.
Happened to see a workshop
not a big one in size
a small shop into details
where the nuts and screws
the hinges and glue
all talked of quality
more the while the hands
were deft and quick
did the work with precision
a sight interesting
brought to my mind
the poetry workshop
where the rhymes and meter
the flow and theme
the meaning and beauty
fall into bits and pieces
the skeleton remains
a delineation is it?
nay it is a dissection
go to amputate the limbs
burst the arteries
lie ill
for a while in sobriety
slowly pass on to eternity
Yonder, I see a beautiful person,
Getting near I rely on reason,
Beauty is not in the eye, I feel
It is found in the benign act,I seal.
The deceptive looks deduce a confound.
The sweet smile is actually range bound.
It is a treacherous facility that abounds
Forecasting a terrible tumble aground.
Never be carried away by outward show.
It would lead to a disastrous flow.
The hideous face hides itself in a profile low.
Waiting for a chance to strike a severe blow.
The blow does not injure the physical limbs.
It would strike deadly on the heart’s rims.
Extracting every sinew of the nerves to the brim.
Inducting a ghastly bloody wound plausibly grim.
Light heartedly, they go about in joyful excitement.
Revelling in the mirth of having struck the target vehement.
One day they would repent for their wicked ploy in indictment.
And endure a harsh curse and drastic swear all in a predicament
Tired gets the mind,
tired becomes the body,
tired fumbles the limbs,
tired cry the eyes,
Only that remains untired,
is nothing but desire.
Meenas Poems 