Meenas PoemsMy heart sank
I felt tired
It is the countenance.
To camouflage
I put up a smile
vain and empty.
To associate myself
I talk few words
relevant or irrelevant.
To pass the time
I sit with a pleasant face
all is weird and stale.
I
The year going up to three hundred and sixty-five days
while the leap year having a day more
they roll on in no time as seen
great they seem to be when they begin
amidst shouts of Happy New Year
going demure when they wind up
with the heave and a sigh
saying with a displeasure
that another year has passed.
This being the charm of birth
and being the melancholy of death
when anything new and fresh dawns
there be a cheer and rejoice
both fading away from the arena
as quick as a wink in a shot
as the memory lasts not long
getting into the regular norms
that being the acceleration of the events.
Rich and opulent they move.
Rich and dashing they ride.
Rich and grand they live.
Rich and imperious they pose.
Yes, they are stinking rich.
Stinking rich is an idiom different.
An epithet that makes one wonder.
A phrase that resembles an oxymoron.
Altogether a coinage that rings curiosity.
Yes, the phrase smells wrong
Getting into the formation reveals many more.
Rich are termed as dirty with derision.
They are condemned as rotten with hate.
They are shunned as filthy with scorn.
Yes, the terminology sounds right.
The super rich is a euphemism many vouchsafe.
They have bought out their economy analysts deliver
They could afford their own exosphere of luxury stores.
Could not they afford tropospherical taxes?
Yes, it appears weird to witness this breakaway.
It is their hard earning a voice calls.
It is certainly so we nod.
It is not envy or greed that underlines.
It is the thought of society that urges.
Yes, it is a feeling that brings a nostalgia.
Meenas Poems 