Five days in a week
I go without a sneak
two more days of the week
make me sneak.
I sniff and smell a lot
nothing much to give a thought
I go about in a sort
casting on the way, not a doubt.
The seven days pass as such
I move about in a stretch
I cross the length and breadth
almost with great strength.
Years have rolled on as well
the clocks continue to strike the bell
noise has rocked like hell
as I look at my life through a shell.
Meenas Poems 