The lovely canvas was painted
and was hung in the living room.
It was a classic work of art.
in a colourful gay hue
enhancing the decorum
restoring the cordial
solicitations that was once found
Paintings bring to light
the memories bright
enlivening the soul
by an impressive flight.
Tag: Poem
Man and woman are in love.
Enraged you bellow
“who else would be in love?”
I say again “man and woman are in love”.
You turn your face in anger
I make my case stronger
by presenting a version shorter
as I find you patient no longer.
A twenty-two year old-young lass
is in love with a man eighty plus
She has fallen head over heels not less
the old man keeps aloof nevertheless.
The young woman pursues with fervour
finally wins over the man with amour
They tie the knot without glamour
giving rise to speculation and rumour.
You might feel a little awkward .
To me it is an amazing unite a bit untoward.
It might appear to be sensibly backward.
It is but the sensitivity of love in a forward.
Categories
The Joy of Freedom
Running through the pages
found a lovely image
of a bird in a cage.
whose big eyes looked sad.
The bird seemed to be desolate with fear
as it had no freedom to relish and cheer
seemed to curl itself in the rear
The image brought tears.
Perhaps the bird was thinking
of its friends in the trees flying
hopping, pecking and singing
enjoying every minute of their life.
The joy of freedom is infinitive
The little bird held as a fugitive
in the cage would get a feed remunerative
but has lost the rejoice of being free.
With a heavy heart turned the pages
recollecting the freedom movement in stages.
wondering how did the fighters survived the outrage
Heaving a sigh threw the book in disgust.
Talking of others was her pastime
getting into details was her life time
elaborating with exaggeration in no time
she made up stories of all time.
She was lady of no 
rank.
Seeing her would tank
the heart of many to a blank,
Yet she carried on with a crank.
Advancing in age she went about the same
not bothered about her diminishing fame
You would say does she have a name?
I say it is her habit nothing to blame.
Smiling the two-year old waved at everyone
She was relaxing in a pram soliciting one by one
She with rosy lips and dimple chin gestured
lovely,
calling all to her.
A grand looking lady took her hand
she ran her fingers through the curly strand
carefully adjusted her slipping band
placed a gift and walked away .
The mother saw the gift expensive.
wanting to know the giver she sat down pensive.
The little one played happily with the toy
unaware of her mother’s turmoil.
Pushing the pram she moved through the crowd
disturbed she walked slowly mumbling loud .
putting things together she was able to unravel the mystery
The donor was none other than her estranged mother.
Love takes everyone by its passion.
Talking about love is a fashion
as love is a theme of fusion
where two beings get together without reason.
The physical love is extraneous
focusing on the sensuous
pitching on the amorous
prolonging on the romance arduous.
Writings on love get famous
as they are most populous
presenting a subject glamorous
enjoyed by young and old as delicious.
Love is circumscribed thus
into a narrow fold of buzz
where man and woman do guess
speaking out sweet nothings in a dialect less.
Love extends beyond the body
as it stretches towards things more hardy
like that of affection, interest, patriotism in brands handy
It has no boundaries as it sets itself on aspects trendy
Appeasing the Gods has been from yore.
Rituals differ according to the course.
Gods stay alone under the roof
as a means to ward of nature’s hoofs.
The roofs undergo a periodical update
with consecrations and extensions to date
aligning it to modern structural designs
decorating the premises to suit his signs.
Happen to see lot of eyes closed and praying
when gallons of milk was poured with a beaming
pride and demeanor on the heads of the deities
attempting to appease the divine dignitaries.
My eyes did not remain closed for long
as they perceived a child singing a song
on the roads of cities with a broken hood
crying for a dime which could buy her food.
Waking up from reverie found all hands folded
trying to find the sublime in the closeted
while the real divine, the hungry child, walks around
seeking alms to appease her hunger by going through the surround..
The morning was pleasant
With the newspapers in one hand
and with a phone on the other hand
woke up to the world’s call
of news from all parts to read
of information from the family to heed.
The time for breakfast was moving on
with nothing in way of preparation.
ran to the kitchen dry
to work on a dish of deep fry
which came out with a fine taste
sat down to eat it with no haste
winding up with a cup of hot tea
Red berries
on the ground for long
become dry and wrong
losing their song.
Red berries
gathered at once
look fresh and round
increasing their bound.
Right thing
at the right time
gets ahead with a chime
proposing a climb
Categories
Antarctica Calls
With the sun at its peak
did not know wherein to sneak
as the electricity was erratic
causing a fatigue chaotic
rushed out to the portico
with a book on Antarctica.
Reading through found
that there was no bound
as the continent lay on ice
where sun is never on the rise
It is always bitter cold
and nothing is sold.
Reading further started to shiver
pulled the shirt in a quiver
as the narration headed towards
Eskimos made me move forward
settling in a posture of riding a sledge
pulled by the reindeer crossing the dredges.
They ate the meat raw and fresh
said the pages without a stress
which brought a distaste in the mouth
unbearable to brook turned South
to the region where sun shines
radiating heat across the lines.
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Meenas Poems 