Meenas PoemsMore at home
never like to roam
a home is a home
small or big
like to dig
eat few figs
read a book with interest
that is the way I rest
with that my life is full of zest
a read, a write and a sleep
with thoughts not very deep
I stay at home all the time
not matter when the clock chimes.
I write with a fear
a fear that builds up
as I get near
near to publishing
I publish with the same fear
a fear that keeps nagging
Once published I fear
a fear that makes me not sleep
Well, the response causes a fear
a fear that I should not be condemned
So many fears surround me
while I start to write
not enough still to restrict
me from writing till.
Wrote I poems day after day
some met with readers in a way
others found little response in the sway
that made me not gay.
Yet, I write day after day
without a break and play
I met an unknown face in the fray
she turned to be a light of ray.
She gently showed me the right way
cheered me up with a lively hey!
gave clues to me 
in a warm say
Now, I have come a long way
She pops from nowhere till today
enthuses me to do the best always
familiar she has become in a way
closer we get to know each other day by day.
To read what I write
is but a terrible bite
as I write with a passion
nothing to do with fashion
pour my thoughts in speed
they are in verse think I indeed!
what they are to others I know not?
as I write for me alone all throughout
this way I go about in my work
performing for my satisfaction alone
a very different personality in tone
stand I very much apart from the normal
withdrawn from the world but very formal
Do I look a strange creäture to you?
Well, that is me who remains always true.
The allegations at an age
the criticism at a period
the attack at a time
when the spirits are down
cause a havoc unbearable.
Never have seen smooth sail
Never have experienced a flow
Never have heard a kind word
all through the days hay and old.
The scathe and scorn in volumes
scrap the heart of its tenderness
the sore is so ulcerative
it bleeds internally copiously.
The haemorrhage accounts for a stumble
a withdrawal from the kith and kin
might be also from the child too
as it clogs and tarnishes the feel.
The cast away from society at large
the pull away from the near and dear
makes one find solace in the lifeless
that of read and write in design.
The words pop out with animation
laugh and talk with cheer
console with a smothering rhythm
care with cordial solicitation.
The story is woven
with the heart and soul
the thoughts head to a clash
deliberations slow down
the plot gradually unravels.
Not with any prescription
nor with any plan
the fiction develops
with anecdotes small and big
spice up the tell.
The delineation of characters
the insight into their characteristics
the spin and the turn almost uncertain
the novel opens up in strength
a surprise to the writer hitherto.
The storyteller himself not knows
what is going to happen
as the feel get him in fits and start
up he goes through the heights
across he beholds a sight delicious.
That is how the fiction is written
the apprehensions and descriptions
fuse together in a whole
arise they an enthusiasm in all
the tale finally is accomplished.
The regular chores wherever you may be
be it in your home town or abroad
seem to be the same all throughout.
Amused I find myself when people ask
how you spend time over board?
straightening up I thinks for a while.
Nothing pretty different for me anywhere
with the routine behind you
reading, writing and cooking.
With the roof over the head as it should be
with a comfortable working space
I feel no difference wherever it be.
Shopping has always been not my way of life
with a few wants and desire
find great comfort at home with my companions.
Companions, you might wonder who could they be?
there be not life around but lively things across
throwing light on topics of interests that carry me on.
By now,
you would have guessed what they are?
being that of books and my computer
those take me around the world from where I am ?
After giving out so much I ponder
why they be so inquisitive on my day-to-day work?
as I am a very ordinary person known not by many.
I settle down with ease quiet looking around
they be asking all these for the sake of talking
a time pass for them not for anything serious as I think.
I see my hands
they look grand
lovely and fine
expressing a sign
The hands write
they do also fight
extending them out
would help many without doubt.
The hands work incessantly
lifting and holding reliably
giving a hand is helping
giving a big hand is clapping .
That goes with the hand in good sense
there being notoriety hence
that of accepting bribe
being no mean jibe
.
The hand that rocks
does things in a shock
that of corruption in the go
tending to be fluent in the flow.
The hands that fold and pray
incline toward a slay
taking the sword in anger
or causing an ignominious trigger .
They being indispensable in all ways
has to be treated with reverence all days 
the good being greater in the run
let we forget the bad they commit as fun
I started to write a poem
with keen insight diligently
halfway through
my heart cried
not at all nice.
Stroke everything off
and wrote once again
with descriptions
and scenic presentations
not at all good
said the heart.
Erasing everything
from of the paper
and from the mind
added the rhyme scheme
and elaborated the story
Oh! very bad , so very bad
exclaimed the heart.
Disappointed I threw
everything into the bin
went to sleep in disgust
with seething anger
cursing my inaptitude
fearing that I have lost
the heart chuckled.
The prolific writing
evolves out of a thinking mind
that is ever on the move
thinking not less
thinking not shallow
thinking fathomless
with a clear mind
none the less
the writing talks about
great and small
with an intensity
direct and focused
that renders a write-up
lovely and exalted
standing out of the rest
jumping out of the box
sitting pretty on the inside
there being a fantasy
that ranges far and near
overwhelming the borders
overshadowing the fringes
with an adornment
delicate and exclusive
not seen with a flash
but through the glass
with an imagery soft and colourful
cheering up the spirit
enlightening the mind
there I see a writing of class
both qualitative and quantitative
Meenas Poems 