Meenas PoemsI look back with joy
ten long years have gone
I am still on.
I came for a holiday
ten years have turned
all my days.
I purposefully came
ten years back to watch an event
now, I am a savant.
The turns and twists in my life
cannot be arranged in order
push me to a disorder.
I am a circumstantial prisoner
in and out I go and come
better if I had been dumb.
It is being years now
an incident comes back
not in real as such
in memory as such.
It is being years
a bride being advised
not by anyone as such
by the mother as much.
Being not one of long
being one word strong
be smart as such
smarter as much.
The bride nodded
this way and that way
understanding not as such
not fully as much.
The bride being me.
It is being years now
the bride has turned old
comes to know as such
meets the eye now as much.
It is the word smart
holds on to me even now
being one of value as such
prudence be it as much.
It means a lot now to me
careful and cautious
patient and never in haste as such
sweet and charming as such.
It interprets in many ways to me
see through in depth
never go into the intricacies as such
nor be out of them as much.
Have gone through a lot in life
fun , strife, struggle altogether
never did I cow down as such
remained upbeat as much.
It is being years now.
I stand up with pride
the one word was enough as such
a solid and sure guide as much.
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.
The thoughts ignite
the touch tickles
the words inspire
the experience teaches
the years roll by
with days and hours
not a great difference that makes 
as a baby becomes a toddler
a kid an adult
an adult turns a man
with the wisdom accumulated
that be the normal course
nothing new as it is
you might exclaim
I tell you all the more
natural it might appear
it has so many depths
and so many insights
that keeps us at bay
could I call them an intrigue
could we accept them as the course
with mishaps and accidents on the anvil
with debris and disaster on the premise
with a fall down and falter on the path
I know not what to say
I would keep away
I would be a spectator as well
a silent spectator on the stroll.
Married through forty years
love going strong all through
with the sensual love of early years
slowly subduing and blossoming up into new
flowering into a bond of understanding
where flirtations have given way to realisation
with the serious thought and graceful dealing
leading one into another to a perfect recognition
the couple go holding their hands together
carefully crossing the tides in total elegance
might be prescribing a style with relevance..
Lost is days of youth.
Lost is days of mirth.
Lost is days of joy.
Lost is days of toy.
Lost is days of evolution.
Lost is days of the revolution.
Lost is days of enthusiasm.
Lost is days of experiences awesome.
Lost is days of adaptability.
Lost is days of flexibility.
Lost is days of attraction.
Lost is days of distractions.
Lost is days and years.
As we lose ourselves in tears.
Pretensions get the better of life.
Pretexts go along with the strife.
Well, that is generally life.
Apprehensions rob the best part of life.
Anxiety dissects the major part of strife.
Well, that is invariably life.
Distinctions crawl amidst the delicate life.
Desire annihilates the valiant strife.
Well, that is incidentally life.
Ingratitude plucks the lovely part of life.
Inertia destroys the strenuous strife.
Well, that is inimitably life.
Jealousy eats up the major part of life.
Jeering kills the sincere strife.
Well, that is significantly life.
Vengeance corrupts the entire life.
Vicious condemns the velocity of strife.
Well, that is inadvertently life.
Years roll up to complete the cycle of life.
Yearnings move up to conclude the endless strife.
Well, that brings to the fag-end of life.
Meenas Poems 