Meenas PoemsThe rains do good
they too also do bad
it is the way they rain
it is the way they deign
the earth is a receptacle
it also faces a debacle
that of a receiver in a sense
that of a deceiver in pretense
the showers fall with ease
they drive one mad in a tease
it being a likelihood all the more
it being a dissimilarity sore
the rains enrich the soil
also delude it in a foil
a strange concept in strength
yet very realistic in length.
The boy of long years
full of life and cheer
once very aggressive and bashful
has become now a man wonderful
solemn and gentle in tone
not because of his choice alone
turned so to adjust to his wife
who keeps him in strife
behaves with a lot of indifference
pays scant or no reverenc
e
belies herself in her attempts
treats all with a possible contempt
speaks loud and rude
her movements are crude
know the reason now for his change
a man I sympathise from a range
I see rains
after a while
not so in style
falls with pride
on all sides
not here and there
but everywhere
not very heavy
but an escape from levy
that of hot sun
which at times is fun
not a good shower
enough for the flowers
Well! that is how it rains
not very much in a strain
it is but beautiful though
it is scanty in a row
yet it rains all through
a respite from the blue.
That be the rain today
call it rain in a way.
I see a sheep
timid and tired
with it a goat
foolish and blurred
led by a herdsman
fragile and frightened
cross through the land
bumpy and rugged
the weather is cold
snowy with a blizzard
all three walk ahead
stuttering and scared
all in a way the sheep cries
the goat chuckles and mutters
the man whistles and guffaws
the group goes past
the hill in great spirit
being a travel less known.
Happened to see a workshop
not a big one in size
a small shop into details
where the nuts and screws
the hinges and glue
all talked of quality
more the while the hands
were deft and quick
did the work with precision
a sight interesting
brought to my mind
the poetry workshop
where the rhymes and meter
the flow and theme
the meaning and beauty
fall into bits and pieces
the skeleton remains
a delineation is it?
nay it is a dissection
go to amputate the limbs
burst the arteries
lie ill
for a while in sobriety
slowly pass on to eternity
My papers fly
towards the sky
could not stop them by
see them with sigh
Oh! my papers I cry
they are precious I vie
Lo! they have flown away
not able to retrieve them any way
those gone are gone anyway
seek to record again 
is the only way.
A verse great
does not have a rate
commends beyond date.
The coconuts from the garden
small they have become
gone without water be the reason
rains have deceived in all seasons
the nuts look dry and parched
exceed in numbers though
starved they seem 
on the exterior
the inside looks great with cheer
butter like slippery substance
lies there almost in most
hold little water sweet
the tender sleeves are tasty
lovely to bite with ease
like to say like Keats
all things small are beautiful
It has been a long time
my tree yielded fruits
they be yellow in a way
not very bright nor dull
a chaste colour on the skin
round they were in shape
neither too big nor too small
a pictorial effect they released
the yellow on the green background
the tree not so tall and big
modest and stylish on the twig
the lemon has such fragrance
filled the air with a flair
reluctant to pluck them asunder
stood there almost in a trance
if left on the tree all the more
would dry up and fall down
there be no use whatsoever
took them in the basket
caressed them with love altogether
soon they would be squeezes for juice
cut into halves and fours for pickle
the skin would lay in the trash
years ago the cut pieces of the skin
lay in the sun for days together.
powdered and sieved by my mother
used in daily bath instead of soap
a nourisher to skin lending a glow
a cleanser to the hair
turning it bright and glowing
Well, I have strayed away
from the tree to the powder
that be my way all these days
from one to other I jump
not focused and never attentive
to the script and to the points
What, a being I am !
A crash there be
all in a sudden it be
the flight from Netherlands
crossed the alien land
would that be Ukraine
where turbulence reigns
the passengers all on board
been on flight not bored
the hope of many a one
a wish of mostly none
the want to see places
the thought of those in gazes
never dreamt of the missile fire
sealed them into the pyre
young and old altogether
of any nationality together
fell from the skies as embers
could this be a day worthy to remember
Meenas Poems 