Meenas PoemsA child over there,
sits in a corner,
with nothing to share,
looks like a loner,
none to care,
expresses a sordid groan,
nervous like a hare,
crys like a mourner,
confined to a bare,
thinking aloud no sooner,
falls down in scare,
collapsing every other in a flare,
well, that is the end of the fair.
She has reached the threshold of fame.
She is a lady with a name.
Everyone, for sure, has a name.
Her personality gives a shot to the name.
She has an air of splendour.
She extends an affable render.
She is elegant and slender.
She exhibits a graceful tender.
She is a recipient of the highest honour.
Awards and prizes come to her from all corners.
She remains the most spectacular donor.
She distributes. all her prize money to the loners.
Her philanthropy adds to her glamour.
She commands a spontaneous reverence.
Her charisma delivers an effervescence.
Her bent of mind marks a noble reference.
Her style calls for a valid observance.
No wonder, she is a lady of brilliance.
Meenas Poems 