Wings to fly

Take me with you

as a feather on your wing

Let me feel how it feels

to see the earth wave

Every golden stalk of grain

dancing in the morning breeze

as we fly up and soar across the sun

to lands where night never begins.

© Reena Prasad 2nd Oct 2012

Earth roots

 A leg stretched, the other bent

 he lies sprawled on her muddy curves

 their wetness, a drop away

 grassy intrusions tickling his sides

 softening rough edges

His head buried contentedly in her

 though she has pushed him out partially

 into the sunlight

 His green burdens branding their shadows

 upon him

 as he stretches further in his quest

 to fulfill their needs too.

©Reena Prasad 5th October 2012

Cloud swirls

 Soft swirls of snow clouds

 inch towards an aurulent ledge

 Tiny eyes of civilization

 blink and stare in awe

 Wearing a dressing gown of fog,

 Dawn reaches out to Day

 yearning for all the glorious colours

 she missed

 while in the embrace of Night.

©Reena Prasad 3rd October 2012



I reach the end point

from where the road seems clear

yet vision blurs


The path that brought me up

lies below

sometimes arcane

some parts straight

The bends where reason stumbled

seem childish from this far away.


Vague uneasiness floats around

like wisps of Indian milkweed

No more do peaks refute

but the zenith is a lonely place

and in its silence, a breeze proclaims

nothing is ever absolute…


Goat paths cannot resist grassing over

proud peaks succumb to earthly tugs

A nomadic spirit remains

A lone tenant sans any walls


The song that plays in the wind’s harp

echoes in these valleys with mellow lyrics

softened by the loneliness Time brings with it

Footsteps erased yet delicate shadows nod

a timeless, alluring invite.


The only lines that remain unerased

are the ones that I have drawn

to keep myself safe

from the omnipresent gypsy

chained inside my wanderlust soul.

 ©Reena Prasad August 2012


 In the stillness of a moonless night
 a thought takes off in search of a fragrance
 flitting noiselessly from the shadow of a tree
 to the bench that once was bathed with love
 No moon unveils itself to show it the way
 to the valley where it had once slept
 among some flowers of hope..
 It wanders up the night sky,
 resting briefly on a floating cloud
 too fragile to bear its mournful weight
 As the night moves towards a silvery dawn
 the orphan returns home
 to the sleepless cove
 from where it often flies
 in search of a lost scent.
© Reena

when dawn comes

The night train chugs dreamily into a green morning
making its way over little bridges
sleeping over backwaters
that have seeped into villages
The old man in his blue, plastic chair
with a newspaper, the stamp of a reading state
on the verandha of a house flying past
His daughter washing the blackened pots
in the little pond behind the grove of tall, silent palms
that reach to touch the silvery wisps of dawn
All is dewy, all is green
as the tender morning sun dries the night rain
but cares not about the inner drizzle
in a land silent with unsaid thoughts
where love is the language that arrack speaks
and beauty languishes somewhere
between snores and wet dreams.

©Reena Prasad

Waiting for Kalki

Waiting for Kalki

Reclining against the cold Himalayas, she waits
Her sobs reverberating above the muezzin calls and hymns
Aarti blazes at dusk meet haloed altar candles
yet fail to illuminate her weeping pipe dreams.
Her aura reduced to a flickering flame
Oh where are you Kalki? Still playing the waiting game?

Her attire in tatters, insidious assaults from her sons
she grips the frayed edges with her tempestuous smile
Blood oozing from her graying temples
as bigoted saws cleave her bosom into gushing rivulets.
“How do I stop those grabbing, lustful fingers?
I am her daughter but now pitted against my own brothers.”

She opens her peace-scented bowers to misguided souls
trying to soothe their hatred with forgiving tears
Ignoring her wounds, her love -drenched prayers,
They see only the gold glittering in her womb.
“Some brave sons she needs, a few virginal daughters too
I cannot light any more funeral pyres of her infants, all alone.”

A mother, our own, ravished shamefully by our gods
Her wise lap, a barren graveyard lashed by divisive tongues
Pull out poison -tipped arrows, tug at hateful weeds
Every iota and inch of her is almost a grisly battlefield.
Her bloody rivulets run down my bleeding fingers too
How do I feed babies with such sinfully soiled hands?

Lend me helping hands to sweep our colossal courtyard clean
to re-write our history on a dirt-repelling lotus leaf
of lives lost in vain, waiting for a Kalki to shoulder the blame.
-Reena Prasad


My thoughts
fluttering in the breeze
come to rest awhile
upon your lovely tree
Won’t peck your ripe fruits
nor drop any waste
Let them hang about
shoot not in haste
lest they lose their wings,
their little space …
Lest your tree become
their gallows
strangling their free waves.

©Reena Prasad Mar2012