Go haunting


The difference lies
in the degree of freedom
your prison forbids
self-inflicted/perceived scars,
an urn-full of infernos challenge you
to write them into oblivion

Time leans then slides down against a wall
as you stick assorted feathers on mood birds
till they turn into vain peacocks
then dump them into paint pails
dip a brush into the congealed mess,
(sometimes get into it)
slap passing curious heads with it casually
and write poems devoid of vanity

How does this arty nook
compare with my rainless cemetery?
One foot on the epitaph,
pigeon shit for paint
I can barely reach my broomstick
for as soon as I squeeze myself out
from under the six foot tombstone,
pluck out the moss from my eyes
and gather my rags to go haunting,
it is day again
©Reena Prasad


2 thoughts on “Go haunting

  1. Reena your poetry flows beautifully . It is the poetry I love…. it is the poetry I write but you are much better that me …love it girl


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