Meenas Poems
There was a fire burning red.
Lit up to burn the rubbish.
It flagged and waved with the wind.
It then turned into grey fumes.
It suffocated the inhabitation.
The smoke emanated foggy white flakes.
It polluted the environment.
It then subsided into black cinders.
The ash got spread in the brown terrain.
It lay for ages fresh and undecomposed.
An array of colours produced a devastation.
An unbearable heat caused a parchment.
Colours give a fantastic splash,
Red, they say is a sign of danger,
It goes with fire and blood,
it also aligns with anger,
It is sometimes eye-catching,
With an association of shades,
A lighter red is most attractive,
Elucidating a charm and desire,
Warming up to a cordiality,
Indicating a significant good will,
Well ,this is how we could talk of other colours too.
Tiny dew drops shine like diamonds ,
They oscillate over the fragile green grass,
Shimmering in the glistening sunrise,
A beauty not to miss every morn.
Little buds peep out from the nodules,
They are in red, rose and blue,
Dancing in the morning breeze,
A beauty not to miss every morn.
Small children walk up the road to school,
They chuckle and chatter as they move,
Exchanging friendly gestures and pep talk,
A beauty not to miss every morn.
The glory of the day lies not in calls,
The charm of the hour is not based on tries,
The contentment rests on impressive sights,
That take us to infinite heights.
The beauty of the morn is not to be missed,
It has to be repeatedly cherished,
The dew drops, bud and child are personifications,
Of transcendental truth and exuberant bliss.
It was a dainty ruby,
Red and blood-red,
Beauty and very beautiful,
Fine and pretty fine,
Glimmering and a glamour.
The little stone,
Set in yellow gold,
Amidst white diamonds,
Presents a colourful hue,
Takes the eyes out-of-place,
Leaving an amaze and an awe.
Meenas Poems 