Meenas Poems
The exclusiveness I like
a way out from the rest
rather a way into the best
holds me to do with care
enthuse me to dare
a strain I do undergo
for which I forego
the comfort and ease
I guard myself against tease
go with a different approach
encumbered by not any encroach
it might look out of the blue
but that be my wish true
as I have lived so long thus
always without any fuss
many find me not to their liking
Well! it is my life I am living.
The feel of having lived long
all through the winds fair and foul
having been tossed by tides good and bad
all been seen in the skin and face
that no physical work was there all too
undergone a mental battle in a cross
nothing came to hand in an easy mode
even to pick a needle small
had to bend and strain the most
as to get hold of one’s own
had to struggle to get a tiny piece
which also ebbed in the final throw
that has been all the life
seeming to be long and winding
hope to depart 
soon
not similar to the way I have lived
but to get away in a wink
and that be the end of me.
I write for what I do not know.
I write what I do not know.
I write why I do not know
that being the status you know
I go on with my writing
penning pages after pages
pouring my feelings unbridled
coming out of spontaneity in the run
going with an acceleration in the go
never do I stop once for a breath
nor do I break once with my stress
but go on with my writing schedule
almost all time morn or night whatever it be
there be no crisis or hindrance.
This way goes my life all through
with fun and happiness through and through.
The technology gets the better of you
knowing not where you are and how you are
as contacts quickly find you .
It being a boon in terms of accessibility
where you can reach any one at any time
with nothing much costly.
It turns a bane in form of disturbance
getting into your privacy in a stroke 
a pest with little reference.
The inputs and outputs tally perfectly
with the advantages and disadvantages overlapping
crossing the reliability all the more.
Week
ends are for rest
They are to be enjoyed.
When does one enjoy?
With the week days in office
the Saturdays and Sundays
have more work than other days.
Cleaning the house thoroughly.
scrubbing and vacuuming
tending the garden
cooking delicacies
spending time laundering
shopping for the week
all throughout the two days
make the weekends stressful.
With children at home
there arises exceptional
care and monitoring
giving the mind and body
no amount of rest
which both badly need.
Come no weekends after the fifth day
the routine of getting up
and attending to work
gets along without interruptions
But come the break every fifth day
there emanates great toil
and greater drain with
greatest exertion and fatigue.
With that there arises
a clarion call
let us forego weekends.
The day with a dawn bright
seems to be set right
with work and toil straight
with care and fear at heights
thinking aloud of the duties first
deliberating how to execute them best
carry on till the fall of dusk.
This being the trend day by day
with one day becoming strenuous
and the other turning out to be of grandeur
the activity of life moves on with credibility
as things happen fast with great incredibility.
The majestic get up fades with age
yet there is a trace of it left behind
which keeps the posture intact
As we get old our outlook takes a different note
Keeping the house intact
with the children getting in as they are born
and getting out once they grow
flying out with new-found wings
Then the husband takes the prime slot
calling her out for each and every other errand
treating the equally aging wife like an errand boy.
The wife runs hither and thither looking after him
and then gets tired of the running
reclining back to a relaxation.
Now with the issues both private and business holding her
wherein she could find time to take care of herself?
In the milieu she gains weight unknowingly
and her figure gets a little drenched out
stretched most by the child births
and more also by the stress and strain she undergoes.
Looking after herself takes a back seat
and she gets ahead still trying to maintain her poise.
Dignified she still is with a difference
as she has grown bulky with flesh deposits in prime areas
and hair greying around the temples with deep 
lines in her forehead
and a double chin a new status she has achieved
after years of slogging and working
which has went unnoticed and unhonoured.
Still with a discipline and decorum and what little majesty is left
she prolongs waiting for the call of eternity.
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.
Wherein does happiness originate?
Wherein does fear subscribe?
Wherein does exhaustion set in?
wherein does strain comes from?
wherein does sadness overwhelm?
wherein does success take wings?
Wherein does failure droops down?
Wherein does power overtakes?
Wherein does authority over acts?
Wherein does jealousy slashes across?
Wherein does greed dashes over?
Wherein is not a mystery
nor a rigorous chase.
All are found in the inside,in the inmost.
They throb from the inner self.
They haunt from the interior.
They resurrects from within.
A small creature creates an irritation,
brings in a bothersome distraction,
inflicts a rare delusion,
leaves a nagging sensation.
It goes round the eyes,
perches itself over the nose,
sits on the cheeks like a dice,
hovers over the mouth in quick tries.
Driving it away poses a strain
getting rid of it is a gain,
Now is the time to tell you the main,
it is the common fly in its deign
Meenas Poems 