Meenas PoemsRamblings make up a poem.
Emotions add the charm to the write.
Message makes it a preach
bereft of enjoyment in the reach.
Poems become a screech
with a repeated insinuations of love
saying I loved you
and you ditched me
I need you very much
and cannot live without you as such.
If these make up a poem
what else would not
and the feeling is that
poems are centered on love
nothing but love
that too very romantic
and extremely passionate.
Beautiful thou art
in physique and in heart
an enviable love.
Adorable thou art
in charm and in manners
an enchanting love.
Entrancing thou art
in thought and in act
paragon of love.
A bird was hopping on the grass
while another one went behind in a flash
tracking all through perhaps a lass.
The bird went to and fro shunning the lass
while the friend trotted behind in a slash
seeming to pacify the former with a crash.
The former took in speed from the grass
while the paramour flew behind in a dash
as though intending to offer a hash.
Perceiving them I had a story not trash
looking at the birds from behind the glass
lest going in front would distract them in a bash.
Hug and tug
are symbols of modern love
kiss not anymore. 
Love has been sung from years unknown.
Praising love when success becomes known,
condoning amour when failure comes unknown.
Love, from the days of Adam and Eve, is blown
out of proportion for reasons best known
Poesy takes off with the love theme
appreciated by all with a beam.
The amiability finds a gleam
when love strategically forms a team
of man and woman like a dream.
Sensual love incites a romantic passion.
It initiates a dying anticipation
hurting if there arises a separation.
The pain becomes unbearable causing an insinuation
that even leads to a suicidal instigations.
Love unfolds a deviation from passion likely
creating a reference to other forms lively
activating a concept of filial love vividly
patronising the motherly love vivaciously
showing a patriotic love enthusiastically
Love me for what I am
not for what I am not
said the poetic muse.
Love me not for my beauty
but for the pleasant thoughts
I give you, said the rose.
Love me not for my wisdom
but for the human experience
said Solomon the wise.
Love me not for my bravery
but for my compassion
said Asokha the Emperor .
Love us not for our grandeur
but for our uniqueness
intimate the frescoes of Michael Angelo.
Man and woman are in love.
Enraged you bellow
“who else would be in love?”
I say again “man and woman are in love”.
You turn your face in anger
I make my case stronger
by presenting a version shorter
as I find you patient no longer.
A twenty-two year old-young lass
is in love with a man eighty plus
She has fallen head over heels not less
the old man keeps aloof nevertheless.
The young woman pursues with fervour
finally wins over the man with amour
They tie the knot without glamour
giving rise to speculation and rumour.
You might feel a little awkward .
To me it is an amazing unite a bit untoward.
It might appear to be sensibly backward.
It is but the sensitivity of love in a forward.
Love takes everyone by its passion.
Talking about love is a fashion
as love is a theme of fusion
where two beings get together without reason.
The physical love is extraneous
focusing on the sensuous
pitching on the amorous
prolonging on the romance arduous.
Writings on love get famous
as they are most populous
presenting a subject glamorous
enjoyed by young and old as delicious.
Love is circumscribed thus
into a narrow fold of buzz
where man and woman do guess
speaking out sweet nothings in a dialect less.
Love extends beyond the body
as it stretches towards things more hardy
like that of affection, interest, patriotism in brands handy
It has no boundaries as it sets itself on aspects trendy
The peacock went up the hill in search of prey.
The peahen was preparing a broth in a pot of clay.
The peacock came dancing through the gateway.
Swinging this side and that side as if in a sway.
The peahen looked at the dance.
Excited it fell into a trance.
Waking up cast a glance.
Lo! the broth was burnt beyond chance.
A passionate love it would sound
very much away from the usual ground.
Not similar to the much expected round
as it falls out of the familiar track in the bound.
Never does it imply a hound
as it passes on easily into the surround.
It does not makes the heart pound
nevertheless it relieves the heart from an astound.
It is a passion that abounds
with learning and wisdom profound.
.Reading is my love with a beautiful crown
that leads me to places newly found. 
Meenas Poems 