Meenas PoemsA strange thought crosses my mind
the reason could not fall into any find
could it be a worry of a kind?
I forget myself when the thought crosses
as often it could it eludes all causes.
could I locate it after a pause?
It haunts me as always and forever so
I stay aghast for a while not in a show
could it extend a great blow?
I am worried all the most
I feel the thought is forced
Could I be better off in its close ?
Write I with nothing in mind
at times it is empty words
most times being empty thoughts
I write with as though I am great
Knowing well I would not be read
that is how I spend my time
never bothered about the clock’s chimes.
It is a thought
being not taught
occasionally caught
never bought
being one of a strategy
that of great energy
I love to circumscribe
being a scribe
hope to achieve excellence
not with much of a dalliance
that could be my reward
being a sensational award.
Reblogged from poesyon.blogspot.com
The prayer in earnest
could bring in cheer
would lead to no fear
lend a heart strongest.
The prayer with a thirst
could be for a desire
would bring in a pressure
earn a not so propitious burst.
The prayer with a thought
be an outcome of an inclination
would usher in a deviation
give a strange proposition as sought.
The prayers do change things
whether they be in earnest
or out of thought or thirst 
shed not a glamour in all
render a requisition in call.
If straightforward
go forward
if complicated
get not inflated
a move right
could make you bright
gather your strength
cover the length
the light would be there
embark with care
success is yours
a way in course.
Nevertheless they say.
None the less it goes
More or less it matters
Little less they play.
The less is found in all
Hopeless they fall
Useless they call
Ruthless they behave.
The less you are the great you feel
The less you talk the more you achieve.
The less you weigh the most agile you feel.
The less anger doubles your joy.
That be a song on less.
Please do not value it less.
I thought in a way of less.
I wrote in a way different about less
The woman bemoans and cries
unable to keep quiet
breaks down in a sigh 
takes not a bite
rants in rancour
swears in anger
mind she not
who it be in slot
be her son or husband
she fumes and disbands
lets out her emotions
not in small portions
pours out in full force
if that be her chose
the life would not be smooth
to tell the truth.
The thought crosses me now
a full decade after
I knit my brow
I deliberate harder
as incidents pass slow
how the protagonists cried foul
the way they hurled allegations
their cry similar to a howl
a shout as of unbound accusations
centered around a poignant prowl
a plan to degrade the rightful all the same .
Alas! their schemes have not found light
they have backfired 
a sad plight
never did I or they anticipated the same.
A twist to the tale carefully built
that be the way every story ends up
now they blink with guilt
a status of misfortune all up.
The days among the dead are past
the days have gone fast
nothing would ever last
as everything has been cast
long before they arrived
that is how we derive
the inference in a strive/
The table which hold the books
knows not to read.
The pen that writes for hours
lies dormant when not in use.
The machine that spins and makes yarn
turns rusty when not run.
The garden which is beautiful and lovely
loses its glamour when not tended.
The body which toils and endures
gets worn out with no care proper.
The attention focused and affection great
hail a smooth performance to the most
along with that comes an execution perfect.
Meenas Poems 