Meenas PoemsSeated on a thorn
the rose looks beautiful
aware of its risk
where a slight turn
this side or that
would bring a disaster.
r
emember a delicate little flower
with its lovely colour
and soft silk like petals
finds its hold on a thorn.
Wondering how it balances
all through without getting hurt
is an enigma to me throughout
like so many other incongruities
that get on well and prosper
Rose in complexion
.
She is aptly called Rose
A lovely rose.
Taking a rose
She rose with great dignity
leading to arouse.
As she rose
the gathering also rose forward
with great rouse.
The little red rose over there
beckons all for long
to see her colour shimmering in the sun
and her soft petals softer than anything
a touch would bring it down
a watch would be enough she says
a lovely look would take us over
a kind notice would make prosper
while the red rose is calling and calling
the human race is going on busy
having no time to see the natural beauty
but having enough space to sit and watch
the nature’s loveliness in pictures and in T.V relays with a look agog
and talking to each other about the beauty that is shown
while right before them there lies a bounteous
that goes unnoticed bringing to mind
that familiarity breeds contempt.
A little baby is lying in a cradle,
She is making noises in a babble,
Her cries are calls a little feeble,
She mostly lets out a giggle.
The baby is like a dainty rose,
Tiny appears her fingers and toes,
Her face enlightens all those,
Her smile ensues a lovely glow.
Soon her eyes gently close,
She sucks her thumb in a doze,
As her charm increasingly grows,
Opening out to all an ecstatic source.
It is a pleasure to see her sleep,
Her light slumber is not deep,
She gets startled at a tiny beep,
Forcing a stealthy silence in a creep.
Peeping over the cradle for long,
Sends a tranquil vibration all along,
Sets the mind at peace not wrong,
Makes the heart sing a merry song.
It is a pleasure unexplainable,
It is a leisure unfathomable,
Oh!Is not my verse lovable?
Nay,it is the way the baby sleeps
is enjoyable.
,
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.
Lovely colours aren’t they?
They make us gay ,
All through the day,
I have lot more to say.
Pink is the lovely rose,
Pink are the chubby cheeks,
Pink are the cotton candies,
Oh!There are pink diamonds too.
White diamonds dazzle,
Yellow ones sparkle,
Pink extends a twinkle,
All from the carbon carbuncle.
Pink diamond is a gorgeous treat,
Found in the mines of Argyle,
A gem rare with a charm upbeat,
Oh!It is fabulously expensive .
Yellow and White diamonds are a costly call,
Eluding the grasp of all,
Pink ones remains a coveted tall,
Appropriate to the monarchy’s haul.
Delight of seeing induces a pleasure,
Desire to hold incites a longing,
Indeed it is a valid value,
No matter how small you might be.
Possession of those might make you beam,
Owning those is a precious dream,
Mostly those might pass on to the cream,
Few of those could make your ring finger gleam.
Pink diamonds turn you pink,
Prices rule out an angry pink,
Lustre spells out a blushing pink,
An owning foretells a futuristic pink.
Well,the story of diamonds is interesting,
Black cinders after million of years inputting,
Validate as precious gems scintillating,
Oh! it is a tale of lowly forcing a pop out struggling.
It was a beautiful landscape.
Though not very extensive,
All forms were naturally shaped,
Flat, hilly, valley, padlock all in a derivative,,
Hedges , plants, shrubs, trees altogether tufted,
Presenting a picturesque bouquet decorative.
The rose plants displayed an exotic colourful hue,
Spreading a lovely mild fragrance along the path,
The hedges extended a little high clue,
As they guarded the way without wrath,
The tall trees lent a shadowy cue,
As they gave a shelter with greenish bath.
The flowers blew over each other,
Raising a nostalgic intoxication,
The shrubs fell over one another,
Reviewing a luxurious sensation,
The huge trees bowed up and down on one another ,
Redirecting a sumptuous consultation.
The green grass ran all through,
In between the plants in gaiety,
The thick green carpet retold a grow,
As large stretches of infinity,
The lush green lawns proposed a bow,
Commending the creators ability
Meenas Poems 