Hands and Feet – Visual Verse


Source: Hands and Feet – Visual Verse

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Kalki Koechlin’s ‘Noise’


 

 

 

 

Kalki Koechlin’s powerful words are a silent plea for individuality to break its opinion shackles, and discern between ‘disturbance’ and ‘true voice’

Source: Read the complete transcript of Kalki Koechlin’s ‘Noise’ here

The Reuel Prize 2018


The Reuel Prize 2018

My sincere thanks to the Autism for Help Village Project Trust and The Significant League for appreciating and recognizing my poems with this award. I am truly humbled and honored to receive it and dedicate it to my Dad who moved on in December and will be forever missed
-Reena Prasad

{Ampat Koshy
April 12 at 5:24pm · Jizan, Saudi Arabia
Unveiling the last prize for this year in the Reuel International Prize series 2018 for POETRY which goes to Reena Prasad

She joins the illustrious firmament in the galaxy of poets, translators, critics, publishers, movers, literary organisers, teachers and fiction and non fiction writers like Santosh Bakaya, Pramila Khadun, Daipayan Nair, Lily Swarn, Lopa Banerjee, L Sr Prasad, Madan Gandhi ji, Bina Biswas, Geethanjali Dilip, Duane Vorhees CB Mohandas Shabir Ahmad Mir Dev Mishra Udita Garg Dominic Francis Yaseen Anwer Gauri Dixit Glory Sasikala Michele Baron Lucette Bailliet Vijay Nair Rukhaya MK Anilkumar Payyappilly Vijayan Kiron Krishnan Aakriti Kuntal Sunila Kamal Prasant Misra Donall Dempsey Sarathi Loke Nath Koel Dutta Mallick Kuchibhotla Sarada Don Yorty Maurice ManGod Higgs Satbir Chadha and many, many others – too many to name – who have all got the Reuel Prize certificates in the past five years.
This deservedly adds one more feather to her cap already bustling with recognition, deservedly so, from Destiny Poets UK, World Union of Poets International etc.}
Reuel 11 RP

Ampat Koshy is with Reena Prasad.
January 25 · Jizan, Saudi Arabia
The Reuel International Prize is now in its fourth year and being started in a way by two poets is primarily a poetry prize.

Each year the poets who won have written an acceptance speech.
The speeches were memorable when penned by writers now looming large on fb and other places all over the world in the published arena and included ones by

1. Santosh Bakaya
2. Pramila Khadun
3. Vijay Nair
4. Lily Swarn
5. Daipayan Nair
6. Aakriti Kuntal – the first one to be given before a real audience at Bangalore
7. Geethanjali Dilip
8. Lopa Banerjee

This year’s winner hands down is Reena Prasad. Her speech is no less memorable.

Here is her acceptance speech on getting the Reuel International Prize for Poetry 2018. It is short, bittersweet and apt and will go down in the annals of speeches as a memorable piece of writing in itself that also neatly illustrates why she got this illustrious prize automatically. The interesting thing about these acceptance speeches is you have to hear them in your mind and they sound sometimes different, if not always better than when spoken, for that. To the speech per se without further ado.

“It has taken me some time to come to terms with this award. It has come to me at a bleak time when I am grappling with the bewilderment of being a fatherless daughter, forced to confront the concept of mortality. It is a bitter-sweet gift; the first thing I thought was that there is a spark missing, the lack of a vibrant soul who would have rejoiced with me at this recognition.
All the years I have been writing poems, I have done so with no intent other than the pleasure of the process. At first, it was the joy of having a private universe that one could saunter in and out of but till now the addiction to seeing thoughts settle into curious, weird and beautiful shapes and creating their own worlds of varying proportions continues. Like a dog given a bone, I have enjoyed the flavour, the smell, the gnawing, the feel of breaking into something, the beauty of burying and the renewed vigour in retrieving it. In this process of muttering and growling to myself, I have chanced upon similar people holding on to even more worn-out bones and together we have journeyed rejoicing in our strange ways. It might seem inconceivable or unforgivable to many who know us or live with us, that this ‘futile’ pursuit of ours, that yields certainly nothing in the form of monetary benefits yet consumes entire lifetimes, is done for its own sake, for the sake of the process alone.
I write because that is what I can do. There is nothing conditional about it- no publisher looming, no social causes to pursue, no magazine editors waiting, no religion or cause to further and no political fervour to nurture. The product may be accidentally social, the process is not.
To be given an award for doing what I love is exhilarating. It sets me free to walk my path, makes on me no demands except that I work a thousand-fold more at my poems and strive to keep the bar up at all times.
Coming from that very planet that I haunt, from people of my ilk, The Rejected Stuff( The Significant League) and The Autism for Help Village Project, The Reuel Prize matters immensely.
I am grateful for being selected for this award and I salute all the talented poets who have received it earlier. A big thank you to all my readers, friends, publishers, Dr. A.V Koshy, Anna Gabriel Koshy,( Autism for Help Village Trust), the indefatigable Dr.Santosh Bakaya (TSL) and to dear Reuel.

I dedicate this award to my Dad, who taught me to read and write good English.”
-Reena Prasad

Dad and me on his last birthday

 

 

 

GloMag March18


Very happy to be a part of GloMag March 2018. Thank you Glory Sasikala for yet another brilliant issue! Much gratitude to dearest Aruna Edula for the image.
Of Gates, Goats and Roses is on pages 77-78

 

Screen Shot 2018-04-14 at 12.15.36 AM

GloMag is the coming together of writers in their diverse manifestations, thoughts, and expressions, and the visual interpretation of these. – page 76

Source: GloMag GloMagMarch18 – Page 76

Kali


You are a nothing

It was my mother’s fault that she birthed

Me on the banks of Kaveri

For try as they did they could not wash the black alluvial soil off my skin.

Kali

Little piece of coal my mother’s brother calls me

As he pretends he can’t spot me in the darkened birthing chamber

It sounds very cute when said in Tamil.

An endearment.

Kali

This one just got baked a little longer in the oven laughs my father when

My mother guiltily presents him with yet another daughter

One whose skin only a paddy farmer could love.

Kali

I am six when I am made to understand that

I who was proudly showing off my 99% in Maths was less than my best friend,

At least I’m fairer than you she says,

Sadly looking down at her own 73% marks

Kali

Raahat Ali hisses the epithet in class 3, that I…

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Aestivation


DSC07594

AESTIVATION

The road is an arid breath
wheezing through barren boughs

I unpacked you on the green bed
My hair flying wild
Bees humming about silken valleys

We left together to explore the trail
of a dust-swept summer
Drunk bees still buzzed in hordes
till a flycatcher caught up with us

Your summer, a mirage
A shimmering wall of sorrow
Dry-eyed, I listened to its howl
They lamented in Nizwa and Sohar
yet you held your sorrow in
waiting for Khareef

The Hajar mountains twisted to get
a glimpse of tourists
fooled by bursts of paper blooms

Parched, we returned
A white eye of a flycatcher followed us
The wall wept then at my infecundity

But in my rucksac, carefully preserved roots lived
To soak in tap water at leisure
and bring forth a trail of sprouting greens

I smelt then
the base notes of a buried south-westerly monsoon
feeling buds of earthy love
from this land of hidden green
burst open beneath dry skin
© Reena Prasad
GloMag May 2016

ALLOW THE POET TO GO OUT THERE


Let one escape the net
Atleast one

Scarriet

Image result for the lonely walker in painting

It is best for you to be true, and practical,

Even if it means you are dull;

You should work hard and be sensible.

A lot of people depend on you,

And people are generally kind, and work for your benefit, too.

It is easy to understand this—and I do.

But if there is one who ventures, in silence, into gardens,

Who walks beside secluded lakes, or mountains, or fens,

Who dreams of poems in the chilly weather, while animals crouch in their dens,

Who smokes a cigarette, as the end of their fingers freeze,

Who takes pleasure in lonely outdoor walks because their own thoughts please,

Their own words a devotion converted from a life with no real care,

Can we allow one, at least, to go out there?

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