Meenas Poems
It was a cough
that was tough
made me uneasy
I felt dizzy
my eyes turned red
I stood baffled instead
how am I to get rid of it?
know not what to do in a bit
I almost broke down
instead of sobs cough came on
Oh! see my plight
it is not light.
The displeasure turns into anger
the anger becomes a hatred
the hatred blooms into terrorism
terrorism squanders all known and unknown.
Words have many meanings
go with the context
they have many dealings
go with the pretext
a simple word ‘brush’
could be a tooth brush
refer to all kinds of brushes
being in the literal part
on to the more serious one
could connote a knock
a light stroke and a graze
a brush with death
could imply a possibility of danger
well into death and then a recovery
a brush with law
a confrontation with legality
finally a retrieval
being so a simple word “brush”
could bewilder in a way
Peace on earth
as it is in dearth
has climbed the berth
no way to be found
nowhere in a bound
could not be traced in and around
could find only violence
has grown rather intense
hear only gunshots
see only blood shots
altogether they form dots
mirth is dispelled
happiness feels repelled
peace has been expelled.
It is disobedience
very much beyond the endurance
a brutal intolerance.
As a young carefree girl
I used to cycle around
sang merrily in a tempered sound
pedaled fast up and down
till my limbs ached all the more
I never stopped even after
I went faster and faster
at last I could not pedal any more
I had to stop there being no other go
could not even take a step ahead
the limbs had swollen instead
my gate keeper carried me back
my mother was happy to see me intact.
I used to perspire a lot
I had a quick shower
refreshed myself
my appetite would have aggravated
I had a whole cup of milk
The anger is seen in his face
red turns it in a trace
words jump out in speed
not polite indeed!
the voice rises high
seems to reach the sky
it is accusations
be it allegations
baseless in all ways
not worthy in a place
yet the shout goes on
with even more volume to don
will it end? at any time
the clock keeps on its chimes
the yell gets going for hours together
hurls
scathing attacks rather.
The triggers and shoots
come suddenly from three directions
hundred and twenty nine killed
what a gory sight !
an unpardonable incident
a massacre of mankind
a disaster to mankind
a peril for mankind.
The tradition I like
be it in food
be it in attire
like to wear and eat
the age old
might look out of date
know not why I am so?
blame my mother for it
could be the family background
brought up with a restriction
nay not restriction
could be the discipline
the strictness and the outlook
instilled in me from childhood
being active even now
at the ripe age
what is taught at your initial years
shapes you into what you are today 
The feeding bottle just before me
cleaned and sterilised
gleams and glows with glee
the milk in pure white is pasturised
warmed and filled to the brim
the baby sucks the milk to a level
pushes the bottle aside firm
sleeps contented in a revel
wakes up not for a few hours
the bottle undergoes the cleaning
lies ther in the table in covers
the baby gets up noiselessly
crawls through in a speed
picks up the dust stealthily
the particle is an one more feed
the sterlization turns irrational
as indeed the dirt becomes radical
Meenas Poems 