Meenas Poems
Think for a while
quoth my mother in style
I was upset in a way
things have gone astray
Lo! my mother interrupts
her wisdom disturbs.
Have I been ever rash?
there I see a flash
It is but foolish
I had not spoken my wish
It is my silence all through
rash it is in terms true
quietness is an arrogance
considered also as an irreverence
Well! that is me through and through
always to myself without a clue
the same to those far and near
even to my mother so dear.
The rains do not come down
They stand up without falling
They think as to fall or not.
Thinking they stand atop without falling
Thinking a lot they move away from the slot. 
Leaving the land down below to rot
and the people to walk long for a pot of water.
The girl in pink
wrote a letter in ink
asking her friends to think
not to merely blink.
Her friends failed to do
as they were a lazy duo
could not think in a flow
but gave each other blows.
The girl felt dull
as she could not pull
her friends from the null
as they flopped full and full.
She let them go
to a place of snow
where the standard is below
so that they could learn slow.
Little did Lina knew about it.
Little did she talked about it.
Little did she care about it.
Yet, she was thrust into it.
The much she knew about it.
The much she talked about it.
The much she cared about it.
She was let out of it.
So much to know about it.
So less to talk about it.
So much to care about it.
Lina was more or less away from it.
As much to think about it.
As less to speak about it.
As much to attend to it.
Lina absolutely ejected it.
That much thought about was a trash.
That much talked about was a bash.
That much cared about was a gas.
She discreetly committed a thrash.
Well, it was a cock and bull story.
Well, it was a series of tales hoary.
Well,l it was a compiling of events unholy.
Well, Lina relinquished herself totally .
It might sound vague to all.
It might read incoherent to all.
Better it be an enigma to all.
It is best to be so to all.
Panic fills the mind,
Depression sets fine,
Disappointment is the new find,
What more is in line?
Squeaks the voice from the hind.
Many more are on the way,
Much more would cross,
Wait for the eventual sway,
A prediction is there for a furthermore loss,
Warns the forecast of the day.
A sleep over is the trick at hand,
Let everything pass in a slow motion.
Watch the turmoil from a distant stand,
Show no rush to reach the destination,
Prompts the theory of a reputed brand.
Deferring the decisions to a period late,
Might look as a procrastination sure,
It is time required to seal the fate,
A reprieve needed to think and endure,
Confesses a solution provider in a voice great.
Write ,write, write till you can,
Think, think as much as you can,
Use words as well as you can,
Weave your feelings as beautiful as you can,
String the expressions as closely as you can,
Make your writing rapturous in all grand,
Well, then end up saying in a fulfillment strand,
I have done as much as I can.
Share with all you can,
Meenas Poems 