Meenas Poems|
It is a little daisy Which makes me crazy She beckons me to come near I talk to her in a voice clear Come to me, you little one We both together would have fun I would hold you to my bosom You look pretty awesome. You make me go frenzy My heart goes dizzy Your tender petals are so soft I want to carry you aloft. Oh! The beautiful Daisy over there You seem to be without care Come to me as soon as you can I wish to fondle you as much as I can.
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That be the day years back
as I recollect in a track
a boy just over twenty-one years
and a girl not even twenty years
both so young and pristine in beauty
stand there with a smile
the eyes reflect a fear and tremble
perhaps it looks like a preamble
to the experiences, they have to encounter
as they stand before a crowd of thousands
on the early hours of the morning
fully decked up with jewellery and silk
ready to tie the knot and bear the yolk
as the minutes draw to a close
the music from the piped instrument
nadhasawaram as it is called in this part
starts with a subdued note then raises to the pitch
while the percussionists the players of Thavil
strike the chord with enormous beats
the Purohit chants the mantra in earnest
as the boy ties the thali round the girl’s neck all honest
with that they become man and wife to the world
the happening being some forty-one years back
that be the day 3/ February/1974 a long way back
while the boy and girl have become old man and woman
well into their sixties still active and cherubic in demeanor
proud parents of three lovely sons well into their thirties
blessed with a host of grandchildren all smart and lovely
Well, that much and more they have earned
nothing short of awards and trophies
nothing less than fame and money
find that life well lived is its 
own reward.
i
It was a slow walk
with nobody to talk
went up the hill
where it was still
sauntered there for a while
amazed at the style
royal and imperious
beautiful and gorgeous
the scenery around
the calmness found
compelled me to stay
it would have made me gay
but I had to go down
to the lowly ground
where I live not alone
with a family in town.
who would wait for my return
my disappearance sudden
would put them in turmoil
with that all 
would be spoilt.
The sense of belong
comes naturally
anything compulsive is wrong
as it an artificiality.
The belong is a feature
inborn and in depth
it is never a caricature
with length and breadth.
The thought of belonging
brings a proximity
evolving a choice grouping
never attempting 
an ambiguity.
The attachments are warm
portray a bond strong
elicit a kinship in form
that be the essence of belong
Is it a grudge? anyway
know not why
they scream and fume
and spell a gloom.
Is it jealousy? anyway
know not for what
they boil and blast
and cast a doom.
Is it greed? anyway
well that could be
they amass and hoard
a treasure for their progeny.
Well, the way they go about
seem to be steady and straight
there could be a havoc
a steal of the deposits.
Nothing could be predicted
like the wind, rain and snow
a clean sweep would bring
misfortune to the door.
Fruits have colours
the colour of lemon
so charming and yellow,
that of the juicy orange
so flaming and orange
well, that be in the name
the blueberries
so cute and Royal
with the strawberries
the colour goes missing
and where comes the straw
the bright apples
with their healthy red
a display of robustness
along with the green ones
which show a thrive
not withholding the mango
so green when unripe
and orangish yellow when ripe
the colours restrain not only with fruits
extend to the vegetables too,
with beetroots having a bloody tinge
and carrots give out a pleasant complexion
the eggplants propose a violetish shade
go the lady’s finger and chillies in shiny green
I can go with the shades and fades
anyway eating them would enhance your complexion
yes, that is why the fruits and vegetables are made so
e
specially for your benefit and welfare.
The bell rings
could it be from a church?
the choir 
sings.
The bell rings
Could it be from a school?
the children sing..
The bell rings
Could it be a knell?
the death sings.
The old woman talks to herself all the time
seems to swear and curse someone every time
her eyes are fixed on an object far away
could it be a man or a substance in a way
she gestures and gesticulates
her actions are most articulate
she mutters “you, you——you”.
with a vengeance and an anger in blue
her toothless jaws are ever active
they go up and down in a proactive
the words are broken and torn
her voice is cracked and almost gone
she mutters with a spite
as sits in a chair tight
could it be a man over there?
could it be a woman fair?
Oh! you cursed soul still alive
Oh! how could you thrive?
the begetter of all my troubles
Will you not falter and stumble?
How can you live for long?
when you have committed so much wrong.
She goes on and on with a sob in between
Poor soul, wish her 
peace by all means.
The snow falls
causing a slippery floss
a slide so lovely at the cross
very much die to see the snow toss.
I have seen only the sun’s rays
causing an itchy trace
that scorches and heats up with a brace
die to migrate in any case.
The snowy storms rebels
a blizzard that forces a stumble.
The sun glares and glitches
a perspiration that ditches.
Would the snow be better?
or would it fetter?
Would the sun be best?
or would put you to test?
I deliberate for long
as I am a belong
where sunlight stays long
as the warmth extends a belong.
I decide not to move
as the not so kind sun proves
a better counterpart to snow
Well! Sun would never be my foe.
It is tedious
imbibing, inscribing, imitating and indulging
strain very obvious
Meenas Poems 