For poetry potluck at Jingles
We have no Valentines
We are nobody’s sweethearts.
Cooking ranges and dishwashers, yes
Comforters and incubators.
We are the furniture and brooms
The curtains that wipe runny noses, stray tears,
duped for generations, cajoled
into believing we were partners.
“You are my world”-said he.
My apple pie, a bundle of surprise,
for he had married a girl and uncovered
a multi-tasking, washing machine in disguise!
The sweet taste of liberty
no longer shackled in nightmarish pains
One understood my bonds
when none saw my chains
What a way it chose to free me!
Ingenious yet simple
A slight ebbing, a throbbing
a panacea for all the shit
answers to questions yet to be asked
In its soothing flow I bask
uploading my fears, pain and tears
into this river divine
back in your fold
lost kid, now restored
all ills and pains justified.
Just thankfulness to the wine
It never leaves anyone behind.
©Reena Prasad 10th october 2010
October 21, 2010
Sniff…I smell poetry.
Bears and poets are quite similar
if you really dare to stare
About the stocky legs and shaggy hair?
quite common in several species of poets, dark and fair
To say nothing of their brotherhood
In escaping the travails of winter’s ire
Poetic hibernations extend into years
Though just a season or two, is enough for most bears
Those who follow them in forests and to their lairs
Bears are typically solitary animals, they do swear
but that’s how you define a poet too, I fear
Poaching of poets and bears remains ever banned
Still they remain on society’s lists
As a vulnerable and endangered clan
To say nothing of a bear’s sense of smell,
he smells humans from miles away, they tell
A poet with his pen in full poetic gear
Smelling human intrusions, he too disappears
While the polar bear is carnivorous and panda eats only bamboo
Such varying peculiarities exist among poets of the world too
Bears have been hunted since pre-historic era, poor geezers
Reminds me of Lorca of Spain and Cinna in the times of Caesar
Bears prefer digging ,climbing, tearing and catching prey
While digging, foraging, catching and ensnaring words, forever the poet’s way
Bears like to live in dark dens and caves,
Poets too have affinities to such a place
The evidence therefore suggests, I deeply regret to say
In every poet, lives a bear, which probably has lost its way.