The uprising

Gleb Goloubetski
‘Autumn Breeze’

Watch me as I rise
drinking up the black liquid of night
The wind in my golden stalks

He lies on the lapping surface
to carry me away
from all that is dark

The bamboo in my basket of love
is covered with its swan flowers
The sunlight, my last sheath

I see his handsome heart
and the big stakes driven into them
but I am not a frail concept, I am Earth

out to reclaim my colours
from the paint and word palettes
of plagiarist beings called artists
©Reena Prasad  26th May 2013

Give peace a chance


Thunderous frowns darkened the sky
trees stood gloomy in a brooding silence
flowers  doubted their wilting powers
to paint faded gardens all over again
The wind grew impatient waiting for spring.
the sea rumbled its discontent at the heavens.
and out of nowhere came  flying a dove
peace written on every feather
love flowing from its soul
it kissed the clouds, the sky turned blue
happy  trees turned green once more
flowers spread a carpet on Earth
gentle breezes rocked the sea to rest
the dove flew around on wings of hope
sharing the joy she had brought with her
till the happy echoes prompted heaven
to shower divine blessings on earthly beings
The dove, a messenger of  the  human heart
came to calm restless spirits
soothing  troubled brows, bringing soft glows
her touch faded every sorrow
her breath melted the desert heat
the season transformed from sad to sweet
Let us build her a beautiful nest on Earth
so that she stays forever with us.

©Reena Prasad  2nd nov 2011 (Published in World peace World healing  Vol. 1 -A poetry anthology)

Wake up~

The bells toll
but these are of bicycles
Jostling and pushing each other
in their hurry to reach where ever.
Small tea-shops, odd assortment
of ties, lungi, vest and shoes
gossip centering around the news.

Bread and cheese ones, in swanky mansions
– the television juggling their views.
Money controlling facial gestures
Get – a smile, take – a frown
Changing mental wallpapers
now simplified
The gory killing on the screen
neither shocks nor registers.
and no after effects.

cold blooded murder
yet not of the person they think it was
Murder of faith as men turn into mercenaries
Misled by hunger- induced hallucinatory
images of being missionaries
Murder of the lone human race
Why kill? Why want something
in exchange of a death?

Humble origins of homo sapiens
maybe we still carry
some blue-green algae in our bloody veins
Our fishes, our trees, our tribe
my land, my state, my country
Mission forgotten
to carry evolution forward
to safely hand over earth
to the unborn warriors
untaught in the chakravyuh of politics.

Exaggerating trivial issues
to the gory point
of a fellow being’s ultimate sacrifice
dividing lives into countries, faiths
amidst noise and hollow victories.

Hear pleas
crafted with the essence of loss
of crushed, sacrificed, innocent buds.
This was the promised land
They too wanted to throw stones
into the pond
to take a rain walk
to dream in the moon shine
But they could not
For their life lines were cut with hateful blades
even though earth had enough
for all.

Generation of blood art
Let us wipe out this unholy graffiti
from human walls
It is not too late.
©Reena Prasad 7th Feb 2012
Published in Brian Wrixon’s Anthology “The poetry of war and peace”

Earth roots

 A leg stretched, the other bent

 he lies sprawled on her muddy curves

 their wetness, a drop away

 grassy intrusions tickling his sides

 softening rough edges

His head buried contentedly in her

 though she has pushed him out partially

 into the sunlight

 His green burdens branding their shadows

 upon him

 as he stretches further in his quest

 to fulfill their needs too.

©Reena Prasad 5th October 2012


Plans roll down the slope

haphazardly zigzagging,

pulled by the gravity of the situation

some lie stuck on uncertain tufts of doubts

chewing upon their future

others find themselves in a murky drain

to be washed away without a say

A few evaporate into thin air

never to be spoken of again

 unable to withstand the heat

when the lava of Life rears up

 tearing fault lines apart into steaming craters

 frying ignorance into crisp nuggets of awareness

 spewing its compelling wisdom

on the temporary beings playing house

 with empty boxes of hope and reason.

©Reena Prasad 7th October 2012