Meenas PoemsBeing used to a variety
both in food and attire
with a tradition interlocked
I seem to be a difficult person.
Food should have a taste
not to go away from the old
never to turn and deviate
always to the recipes of old.
Attire should have a grace
not to be lead astray
never to divert and copy
always to the modesty in play.
That be my ideas of the essentials
never to cross over in differential
a sticker to the old order
flexible to the modern with modesty in mind.
Born in an ancient city
makes me tall and gritty
know not how long it is there
its loveliness is beyond share
old it is on all sides
roads narrow and not wide
houses are very close
well laid and in rows
people are simple and friendly
very traditional not trendy
called as a big village
as it does not cause a mad rage
has all the facilities in abundance
it holds a lot of references
a city of great fame
a place with many names
the ancient city of mine is Madurai
an old 
city of temples
it is been long ago
at a time when I was little
when people did not talk about ego
strong they were not brittle
Self-contained they were
ambitious to a degree normal
took very great care
remained friendly and formal
could find no vanity
not even a slight trace
held them in a way dainty
gossiped they with no chase
spoke not ill of others
genial and cordial to all
moved like own brothers
responded to each other’s call
they were angels in human form
always gentle and calm 
A day or two ago
met my friend of long ago
old she has turned
most of the calories burnt
by age and illness in one show
found her out of flow
staggers a lot in her walk
precise is she in her talk
physically she has lost
mentally she is still fast
hailed me by name all aloud
brought back the events from cloud
speaks out in a voice so clear
tells me I look like an old hag with cheer
Knew not where to keep my face
I pulled myself away with a long face
not able to accept that I am also old
she and I being the same age in fold
yet thought I am young not gone grey
as my black hair shines in the fray
with coloured dye minimal and slight
teeth all original and white
no make up whatsoever in sight
I deign myself in attire suitable
wish to seem like one capable
never did I think that I am old
with a smile now, I accept “Old is gold”
An old man out there
lives in despair
a king so long
committed actions wrong.
A rigid man without respite
fell a prey to a spite
knowing or unknowing right
now wallows in ignominy bright.
Thrown he now out of his fiefdom
has become so inactive and dumb
looks he a puppet with a drum
comical character of his erstwhile kingdom.
Childless he is, this wealthy man
adopted a son from his own clan
who hatched out a clever plan
that entrapped the old man.
Knows
not how to come out
the old lion seems worn out
Would he regain his strength?-a doubt
worry his kin all throughout
The hair has turned silver
the face reflects a golden hue
the lips display a coraltinge
while the cheeks are scarlet as ruby
the emerald tone overall
along with a sapphire feel
she in her platinum years
stands there as ebullient as rhodium
while all the precious takes the scroll
there be a charm of all in one
that be the lady at the stroll
baptized as “vairam” at home
translated in English as diamond
has she all the precious in her control
a rich lady not in name alone
in character and looks too as detailed above.
The year going up to three hundred and sixty-five days
while the leap year having a day more
they roll on in no time as seen
great they seem to be when they begin
amidst shouts of Happy New Year
going demure when they wind up
with the heave and a sigh
saying with a displeasure
that another year has passed.
This being the charm of birth
and being the melancholy of death
when anything new and fresh dawns
there be a cheer and rejoice
both fading away from the arena
as quick as a wink in a shot
as the memory lasts not long
getting into the regular norms
that being the acceleration of the events.
Reviving a bet
recycling the old
renovating the building
redoing on the whole
brings an expense much more.
Creating is the best form of doing
aping is the easiest mode of execution
restoring being difficult performance
requires a skill and proficiency overwhelming
undoubtedly to get the original back in shape.
Being so, restoration needs care utmost
minute details have to be looked into intensely
emphasizing a keen insight and research foremost
that takes the procedure to a scrutiny sober
releasing a structural pattern of great value.
Mostly none undertake this assignment
as it demands patience and deft handling
involving a time more than needed that went in to 
the original
accompanied by the fear of not spoiling the element
that of restoring the nuances in the old.
The wooden door over there
stands for centuries there
it does not look bare
it is one that which is rare.
The wood is known as teak
having everything in sleek
the thickness and rays found greatly
show its tenacity and beauty mostly.
The door opens out and closes
with its hinges still in force
creak does it at times
still being alert all times.
Scenes that took place inside
incidents that happened outside
has the door recorded with dates
never would it reveal at any rate.
The door is a silent spectator
listening to that transpires now and later
from within and without be it
never commenting good or bad in a bit.
Doors like human has ears and eyes
and a mouth too but very nice
speaking nothing ill of anyone
preserving its dignity always never for fun.
It is a ruse straight
a game being played safe
with an intermediary
playing tricky and pretty dirty
being an old man
with a walk and bend
talking sweetly and pleasant
but actually a fox in the go
overwhelming stealthily
the one that showed the prospects
desiring to out beat him smartly
framing a strategy
that worked out to an extent
finally got busted in the mid way
causing a disenchantment
while the foxy old man stood exposed.
Meenas Poems 