Step into a dream

Photo Credits- Reena Prasad
Photo Credits- Reena Prasad

The steps have been waiting for an afternoon
I promised them
when the sun would hide behind palm sheaves
occasionally sending golden darts
warm enough to transform straying thoughts
into lazy day dreams
I cannot shut out these moments
anymore can I let this time rush by
The nodding bougainvillea drops its paper blooms
An ant travels up the garden wall
It is a solitary journey
Stirring life in every pot and crevice
surprises me with its tenacity
The shadows lengthen as I sit and stretch
to touch the last of the fading light
A cloak of soft dusk falls over me
as I dream at my writing desk
of a friendly porch
where some steps always wait for me
© Reena Prasad April 8th 2013


Click pic for credits
Click pic for credits

and one day you make a dash for it
no longer caring who sees you wet
shaking off the covers, the caps, the masks
into your field of lost green
The grass is more prickly
than it was in your memories
the blue you painted on your ceiling
a faded shade when you stand gazing up now
the breeze has a nip and shoves you about
the rain so cold that it makes you shiver
The warmth, the tinkle of little goat bells
you still hear
but there are none about
Fences block your path
Gates have made you a stranger
The stone where you carved your name
says RIP
as it lies over another
©Reena Prasad Feb 9th 2013

Summer in me



The cement floor was cool
when you lay prone on it, palms down
letting the coolness seep in
yet it smelt of summer
Sunrays streamed down through banyan leaves
across the road, the half-ajar door became a frame
for the parijatham tree
with  clusters of pink madhumalti blooms
nodding into the picture
An invisible click by my heart
for I have a fading snapshot of a June afternoon
in my treasure box along with the fragrance of a scratched tree bark
a memory of a last page in an autograph pad
and of the sun smiling at me through a pair of dark eyes
a stubborn ring of a cycle bell
and the feel of love blushing in umpteen spots all at once
warming my winter- nipped toes now
and the only thing that binds two seasons together
is the feeling of being the most happy when alone
which I could never shake off
then or now.
 ©Reena Prasad 8th Jan 2013


I remember a huge tree with anthills at its foot
on which the brown nests, kidney shaped
with tube- like extensions, swayed
The sun poking its bright fingers into my scrunched eyes
as I pedaled the last stretch home
my mind on them.
I lingered there after school
watching the cackling  birds
chase each other and dangle from
these precious nests wishing I had one
but not sure why I wanted it
Then one day I spotted a large, empty one on the grass
happiness was one hand on the handle bar,
the other fiercely hugging it to my school shirt
not knowing the female had rejected it
for not suiting her aesthetic sensibility
and the eager male had ripped it down
to build a better one for her
but for me it was perfection like none other.
Nailed between my father’s belt and the black umbrella
in the modest, little bedroom with peeling paint,
it stayed for a few weeks ,
losing its charm gradually
till it became a rotten smell and I came home one day
to find it gone.

©Reena Prasad 31st oct 2012 Published In Brian Wrixon’s anthology, In our own words

A spring in tatters~

Must stop reeling in rainbows,

 the flowers are starting to stare

 A cat on the wall mews something

that sounds like ‘Get a life’


 A paper hurtling down the street

 with the wind in hot pursuit

 makes me think of things that do not belong

to any part of my time


 A tune plays among the swirling leaves

 its rhythm makes my toes dance

Unsaid words gush upon me

 with an impact of concrete sound


 A moment later

 a paper-boat cloud merrily floats away

 and I stow all my beautiful seasons upon it

 waving, knowing

 a tattered spring had returned briefly

 to savour its passé heyday.

 © Reena Prasad 2nd October 2012
PUBLISHED in The Indian River Review  Issue 2 , 2013


Weeping in riddles for the truth that lies
behind a fine curtain, an inbox of life

Silent suns pass through the street today
razing brazen soul with invisible rays

A bell tinkles in memory school
an unwiped blackboard clings to chalk dust

Catching a few drops of merciful rain
for youth’s sake, we move on and away

Stray pages flutter in yesterday’s breeze
showing us dreams abandoned on the way.

©Reena Prasad Feb. 2012