Meenas PoemsIt is a go
in a row
with a bow
on the toe
going slow
keeping with a flow
looking with a glow
as if in a show
seeking nothing low
going not far below
of course with a blow
nothing to allow
not in a shadow
past the meadow
in the narrow
through the furrow
finally into the burrow
went the rabbit in tip toe.
The little one was crying.
Was it for milk or anything else ?
Kept me wondering.
His cry slowly become a sob.
Was it for milk or anything else?
made me worrying.
It gradually gave way to a whimper.
Was it for milk or anything else?
I started thinking.
The whimper became a whining
Was it for milk or anything else?
The apprehension kept me on tip toe
as the mother walked in softly in a tip toe.
The baby’s whine became a smile in no time
Scared I stood behind the door.
Suddenly there erupted a roar.
Shivering I waited for more.
Hope there should be nothing in store.
Any move would cause a blow.
I took a few steps in tip toe.
My legs dragged me to a slow.
What would come next I do not know.
Moved ahead with a caution to the door.
Peeped through the hole in the door.
I saw something tiny crossing the door.
I pulled my eyes out of the hole in the door.
With confidence I opened the door.
I could see nothing out there along the door.
What was it then that moved through the door?
I got in slamming the door.
It was my mind that was working feverish.
It was my mind that kept me in anguish.
Mostly it is my mind that interrogates with a garnish.
Finally all end up in a situation sans relish.
Scared I stood behind the door.
Suddenly there erupted a roar.
Shivering I waited for more.
Hope there should be nothing in store.
Any move would cause a blow.
I took a few steps in tip toe.
My legs dragged me to a slow.
What would come next I do not know.
Moved ahead with a caution to the door.
Peeped through the hole in the door.
I saw something tiny crossing the door.
I pulled my eyes out of the hole in the door.
With confidence I opened the door.
I could see nothing out there along the door.
What was it then that moved through the door?
I got in slamming the door.
It was my mind that was working feverish.
It was my mind that kept me in anguish.
Mostly it was my mind that interrogated
with a garnish.
Finally it ended up in a situation sans relish.
Meenas Poems 