NaPoWriMo 22 Remnants

NaPoWriMo 22
The ‘Puente form’ Prompt


A missed letter lay in a wooden box at her gate
A jasmine vine unfurled, weeping flowers at the haste
The house was empty, the memories had left
A broken promise loitered, alone, bereft

~There remains a not-so-sweet smell of forgotten love~

A brown crush of jasmine sleeps at your feet
The few I rescued from my hair lie on the crumpled sheet
The night meanwhile has ambled in, drunk, on all fours
and has stuck its cold feet in the crevices of a broken door
(c) Reena.

Waiting dust

Whirl around a tree yellow
green flicked by blue
orange swirls, bare patches smudged
 a breathing, green window
two feathers of happiness
two of trust
wings spread over earth
beautiful brown rust
little blue songsters your warbles sing
the living joy two may bring
but where does my tree grow?
for which woods do my roots yearn?
dust lies in wait
but where do I begin?

©Reena Prasad 5th jan 2014

Climbing a tree- A pantoum



The humble tree can lead to the clouds
hung for you just out of reach
It is the worker who stands tall and proud
Firm footholds will find your feet

Hung for you just out of reach
The clouds will shade your bedazzled eyes
Firm footholds will find your feet
yet stubborn thorns will rent your leaves

The clouds will shade your bedazzled eyes
as you leave the ground beneath
yet stubborn thorns will rent your leaves
but there will be fields of golden wheat

As you leave the ground beneath
lift your gaze and aim for the skies
but there will be fields of golden wheat
the kind that greets the one who tries

Lift your gaze and aim for the skies
forget the fruits of the seed you did never sow
The kind that greets the one who tries
to hang his dreams on a stout rainbow

Forget the fruits of the seed you did never sow
It is the worker who stands tall and proud
to hang his dreams on a stout rainbow
The humble tree can lead to the clouds.

©Reena Prasad 4th Feb 2014

Traveling through time- A sestina

The bus is on its winding way
young  and old travelling to a distant bay
trees on the road side sort the rays from heaven
In rhythmic harmony, on their seats strangers sway
Windows frame the men fishing on the river’s side
Time stops while the bus moves on and away

Life! Here is some time to while away
A pilgrimage to lands yet to come our way
Silence stretches out arms to every side
A cow moos, a wave laps at a rocky bay
A storm is fair too if someone shares the sway
Under the green corn, a poet plants a secret heaven

Ducks muse in another wormy heaven
Green guavas  punch the air, the bus moves away
Dusk kissing its rays, the sun begins to sway
Barren roads dotted with pines all the way
Daylight dims, earth still glows, the sky is a neon bay
Hazy mountain shapes loom on either side

Night takes the centre stage, clouds at her side
swirling up the sweat of labour, churning out a heaven
Earth wears black for the day has left her dark bay
A cold town sprints by, the village has receded away
Love birds fly home, a pale moon is on her way
Shawls, mufflers and sleep dull the bus’s rickety sway

Jewels in the sky looking for a poet to sway
winking from glass panes on either side
Doubts rack minds set on a material way
A moment to count the blessings from heaven
for u
nder a common sky, strangers fade away
Wheels turn, the bus is now a warm, sheltered bay

A black form fades, dogs bay
At the end, the body stays in motion and the feet sway
Death- a sojourn to throw some debris away
They alone matter who stay at one’s side
Know we hold the one and only heaven
A smile is only some more love on its way

Trees outgrow the Bay, old age begs at the road Side
Travelers in time’s Sway never reach a dreamt Heaven
Life lumbers Away, time never retraces the same Way
©Reena Prasad
edited 4th feb 2014

Acrostic FLOWERS

F lowers
L ive near open doors, on the mantel piece, in designer vases but
O ften absent in unsmiling eyes from
W here quarrels emanate and curses fly
E legant carpeted floors
R un under unfriendly souls
S ans welcome smiles.

F ine art work on walls
L ooks at hostile undercurrents swirling beneath the
O pulent lace
W orldly pleasures and
E vil thoughts make
R andom joys run awry
S ee the hearts flawed beyond solace!

F orlorn are the houses with lush blossoms where
L ittle joy bloom in human bosoms
O pt not for hoarded antiques nor for
W ooden tiled  designer floors
E verlasting are the homes with laughter galore
R ule is a hug a day to
S ee a heart become a garden.
©Reena Prasad  11th feb 2013

Published in the June 2013 issue of Fragrance Poetry



A Roseate sonnet for Ampat Sir


A spider caught in its own web, must be how God feels.
Battles fought in his own name, something he could never foresee
Trapped in the tangles of creation, I often wonder how he deals.
Peace and beauty- his dreams perhaps, but this world refuses to see.

Things are always out of hand so he has to do his rounds
It must be terrible never to relax, never to be free of tensions
He can’t ever take a break, not while this race abounds
He must be tired to death of such situations

Why did you build this world dear god, you hold a tiger’s tail
Sentenced forever to a prison now, with no one to grant you bail

Reason-starved lawyers rush to defend your case
Outsmarted judges with guns decide to decide your fate
Saviour of an ungrateful world if only in decrepit manuscripts
Existing maybe just to exist as a bedtime myth.
©Reena Prasad

The Roseate Sonnet (form inspired primarily by @Gopali Chakraborty Ghosh’s profile pic of a rose.)

How this form works is like this – you write a sonnet but the last four lines will always form the word ROSE, with R beginning the first line of the last stanza, (a quatrain, note!), O the second line, S the third line, and E the fourth line. The first two stanzas are quatrains and the couplet comes as the third stanza in this new type. The syllables of each line can vary from 8 to 12 or more if need be for the sake of content and rhythm and rhyme is not a necessary adjunct, or metre or blank verse. But the inserted acrostic ROSE appearing at the end is a MUST. This is the first attempt, as far as I know, to tinker with the sonnet form satisfactorily, emerging from South India.
-Dr. A.V Koshy