Gamble is a game
not of fun primarily
but specifically a play
for money exactly
while playing cards
and while dealing with stocks
where there is a need
for wit and alert
where there is a necessity
for moves and designs
where there is a requirement
for reverse and forward
where there is an initiative
for a quick change
where there is an instigation
for a quicker shuffle.
Gamble would lead to a fumble
if transacted improper
leading to a tremble
ending up in a crumble.
Tag: Poem
Wallowing in wealth
he lives in pomp
Splendour is the word
that takes him across.
Rides in mirth
and revels in joy.
Alas! he is unable to swallow
as he has a hole in the hollow
down below the throat.
She has a deep swell
around the eyes.
Bulging it closes the eyes.
it is not painful says she.
it is neither disturbing too.
Amazed at her predilections
I stay confused.
She goes about her way
doing her chores in perfection
With one eye workable
she does perform adorable.
Drives, works, cooks
does gardening too.
Amazed once again
I remain astonished.
it is not the lack
that affects work.
it is not the fault
that cancels actions.
It is the determination
that works wonders.
Where there is a will
there is a way.
Dream is a reality
in a far-fetched sense
calling for a creativity
with an attempt intense
going with it is an uncertainty
but an attempt hence
is no way a hindrance absolutely
Dream is a sketch of the mind
a plan imaginary
drawn in the broad canvas
not in paper bonded
but in the sheet of the mind
an alibi proposing a carry out
with no obstacles and hiccups.
Dreams lead to a progress
as the mind works out
both in sleep and while awake
drawing a modus operandi
as how to execute and how
to go forward in a form
appropriate and with relevance..
<A little tadpole
came out of the hole
to take a dip in water.
It hopped and jumped
and knocked on a passerby
The tadpole ejected water
which got splashed on the man
Sensing a feel odd
the man shook his leg
The tadpole fell on the ground
tumbling in threes and fours.
In anger the man was
about to stamp on it
The little one moved fast
in an escape and fell
into a pothole of water.
The man cursing
went about his way
as his dress got wet.
and his day spoilt
As it goes the tadpole
signalled a bad omen
and the ugliness
invited a repulse
stirring an unpleasant outrage.
Under the street light
a boy was reading
wearing thick glasses
and torn trousers.
Straining his eyes
already bespectacled
he was memorizing
Peeping over in anxiety
found out finally
the name of the poem.
“On His Blindness” .
a sonnet that ends
“They also serve who only stand and wait”
a fitting tribute to both Bard and boy.
With a sweat on the brow
and a frown on the forehead
twitching the nose
and with the pout on the lips
straining the neck
and walking with a twist
a figure entered the portals
In a shrill cracking voice
raising it high
tempers getting crossed
yelled loud
gesturing with anger
made faces
enacted a melodrama
and walked out of the gate.
Why did she come?
What did she want to tell?
Knowing not the reason
of her anger
Unknowing the cause
for her entry.
I walked into the house.
It is a bamboo basket
small and cute
set in yellow and red
a lovely blend
used in occasions auspicious
thought to bring wealth
prosperity and a lineage
by a small trading community
down south of India
known for its artefacts
and architecture
They live in sprawling mansions
with a modest appendage
saving and spending little
giving a part of their revenue
to temples and charity
a munificence little known.
The basket in talk
is one of their many
cherished handicrafts
simple and less expensive
while their gold, diamond
jewellery look amazing
their silver articles excel in
workmanship and beauty.
Like the basket ordinary
the people apparently are simple
soft and strong in accounts.
The rich heritage is
waning like the moon
where modern trend
has taken its toll
Waking up in the midnight
got up with a start right
memories kept flooding in
of times when my sons were in.
Their voice calling “mama”kept ringing.
Unknowingly went walking
to their rooms in search of them.
Unlocking ran in to see them.
None was there to greet me
Only the empty beds stared at me.
Just ran my fingers through their bed
held their pillows to the bosom with eyes red.
They live in countries across the continents.
Each one away from the other in a land distant.
Talking and seeing in Skype in an instant.
Well that is how it has been destined.
Brushing aside the tears with trembling hands
made my way back to my room in a tottering stand
slowly slipped on my bed completely devastated
straining to close my eyelids to a complete rest.
Mangoes ripe and unripe are in exuberance
The tree provides an inspiring magnificence.
It is in all its glory reveals a patience
that overtakes a philanthropist’s munificence,
The mangoes deliver a colourful hue
with a predominance of green in the view
a pleasant golden-yellow in the intermittent through
Altogether the tree stands out for elegance true.
Boys hurl stones on the mango tree
with that the mangoes fall free
collecting them in a hurried spree
rush away in a delightful glee.
Birds and bats bore deep into the pulp yellow
Suck the juice and tear the flesh with a disallow
throw the half eaten fruits on the ground low
causing a disarray and mess in a follow.
The big tree remains still and silent.
unmoved by the attacks of earth’s tenants.
Keeps on yielding fruits bearing no remnants
growing tall year after year in eminence.
Meenas Poems 