Lady With The Lamp

I conjure you up
from a flame
When you arrive
I become one
©Reena Prasad

Love Is

Love is
your fingers tangled in my hair
a shared smile that no one else sees
a baby cheek pressing against my own
two tiny feet resting in my lap
a possessive hand tugging at me in sleep
a bright crayon portrait of me
a steamy cup of coffee not made by me
a foot rub after a long day
a packet of punjabi samosas
just when I crave for one
and you say you haven’t seen
love?
©Reena Prasad

Shadowing A Daydream

Guy’s daydreaming

I searched for you
in the shade of the jumbled roots
and under boughs knotted with red strands
of barren hopes

in the musty breath of an ancient library
where my footsteps hushed themselves

hand in hand with a heart
that had learned to mute its beats

in the corridors of a memory where a breeze tugged
playfully at the tendrils of a dream, utterly undone

under the rain-soaked arch of allamanda flowers
spilling over a ramshackle gate of reason

I looked in every place where I was certain
you wouldn’t be
certain that you would always be there 
wherever I cannot be
©Reena Prasad

NaPoWriMo 22 Remnants

NaPoWriMo 22
The ‘Puente form’ Prompt

Remnants

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.

NaPoWriMo- 8 Clutter

NaPoWriMo 8

Clutter

If I could wrench its obstinate edges free
and careful not to spill its amassed crumbs
gather its unruly flaps
at the centre,
I would shake my heart out
Free it of all its obsessive clutter
and spread it wrinkle-free
to cover the rents on yours
©Reena Prasad

NaPoWriMo-7 Summer Rain

NaPoWriMo-7

Summer Rain

I would have loved for us to defy death
the way poems do
springing out from paper graves

Once they have burnt me to ash,
released this trapped bit of air
stowed you safe under a hefty stone
and left the world to us

unchaperoned
our wild selves free
to meet

let us

lie over your headstone
snow-fetti melting from your shoulders
and from my hair
-remanants of our clinging winter
the warm rain singing a frantic refrain
of our desperation, deprivation
and final damnation

Let us
begin another summer
bring on a pagan rain

But you never came
for on this driest patch of sand
my heart has been conjuring up gleaming shells
Their glitter unshed in my eyes while I wait
for the cease of the merciless roar
of an endless summer rain
©Reena Prasad

A Song and Dance about an Absence

The Music

A note slipped out
from the violin strings trying to tame it
from the hands caressing its cambers
Wings brushed past knees and fingers of players in the room
causing a momentary unease
in the ears of the master

Bowed heads, soft tapping feet
and a chorus of notes left behind,
it embraced the still trees
flicking at their slumber with the song it had drunk
and moved with the speed of unstoppable hope
bounding over an unkempt lawn
coming to a stop
at a lighted door
Impatient to drizzle, its music dripped
down the window bars
till it pooled
at the feet of the occupant
of the window seat

————————-
Your feet tangled briefly, you couldn’t get up or let go
You wrote to me right then
Yet you never enclosed my truant note

The Dance.

No one is at the shore
The lone dancer sways
her waist, a curving wave
the roar of the sea in her beat
a dance on mossy rocks
on the surf
on crushed shells
on sand
her bare toe sketching,
embedding him in earth
her fingers stretching
plucking all that was n/ever hers

She created deer, flowers,hills, lakes and spring
around an echo of a footfall
that never fell on her shores

The dance exists untamed
in places you never thought to look
perfected in solitude

—————–
Neither the music nor the dance
could create a home for themselves
Every note, every move
follows the only tune I know

one that you played upon my last string
before the gale carried away the bow.

©Reena Prasad