Meenas PoemsNice to read.
Nice to write.
Nice to play.
Nice to eat.
Nice to cry.
Nice to laugh.
Nice to walk.
Nice to sleep.
Am I being frivolous?
Well, that is what we do in tremendous
might be a difference
some do them more
some do them less
depends on the individual
that be the way to live
with other ablutions
and most other tabulations.
There prevails a contempt.
There lies a scorn.
There exists a distraughtness
There are so many apprehensions
The life goes on without expectations
moves on with a lengthiness
difficulty whatever has to be borne
as the life is beyond a pre-empt.
The loud blast of the speaker
nettles and shuttles the ears
the noise gets into the brain
causes a propositional drain
the head reels in a dizzy
the conscious oscillates in a frenzy
not happens to one but to all
yet the speakers go without a call
unrestricted in their own proceed
unknown to many around
it is a pollution of the sound
worse than the air prone
as the noise holds a serious tone
a menace to the human in all
a mishap to the society in full.
The cries shrill
came from a steep hill
enough to kill
It is a philosophy
not an atrophy
but a win-win trophy
ideas being lofty
thoughts bear a hefty
there is nifty
as well as thrifty
could trace a frugality
and a clarity
though they are a reality
they show a tranquility
with a sense of stability
found with a lot of equanimities
could this be the great philosophy?
A togetherness in a crowd
is a quality to be proud
how many of the loved
travel with humility in bowed
each one has the ego in a cloud
which echoes itself in a loud
the one over there cries aloud
the other one here shies cowed
with that comes a skirmish all in a way
followed by a tussle all through the day
that keeps each other in a bay
the protagonist and the antagonist stay
their chauvinism turns sour and loses
that much for the togetherness
where solidarity remains in the wilderness
and the loved ones trail i
n blessedness.
A stream I espy
reflects the sky
it feels shy as it runs
and runs across
with no flaws
goes on in a toss
could see ripples mild
a swirl and a twist piled
it flows almost filed
the flowers float in pairs
the fish swim with care
these be the noble shares
we notice in the stream’s hold
as it gently passes in the fold
the waters not very cold
it is a beautiful expression
nature’s priced installation
a glorious yet modest representation
It is a first hour in the morning
not I with a cup of tea
nor I with a newspaper in hand
I sit on the patio just gazing
my eyes do not rest on a focus
it hovers all through in a way
could hear the birds call
the nightingale in her sweet voice
comes out with a ku ku ku
the dogs on watch go to sleep
with a snarl and a growl
the lizards on my wall
make a noise strange
the mosquitoes after their nightly pursuits
go back to their breeding place
I sit there for long lost in a reverie
I wake up from my dream
as
the newspaper brushes past my face
the next hour on I am into the schedule
A revival of the past
the way I sang once
recollected fast
several decades hence
the voice in a mellifluous swing
reached the notations high
came down to the base as a spring
now it strains to go up in the fly
remains stuck between the wings
cracks and creaks almost
breaks and filters in a post
yet I sing in a closed space
afraid of being teased in the open
the music in me finds its place
as I sing in the privacy chosen.
My heart sank
I felt tired
It is the countenance.
To camouflage
I put up a smile
vain and empty.
To associate myself
I talk few words
relevant or irrelevant.
To pass the time
I sit with a pleasant face
all is weird and stale.
I
Meenas Poems 