GloMag August 2016

GloMag August 2016 is here! Happy to to have a poem titled ‘Looking In‘ at page 91. Lots of good friends have sent in their work for this issue. The preface by Robert Klein Engler titled ‘After the end of poetry‘ is a must-read.
“If you say that word’beauty’ one more time, I’m gonna puke” ūüėÜūüė∑
Won’t say it but this one is a b- – – -y of an issue.
Source: GloMag August 2016

Kollam -A home on the banks of Ashtamudi Kayal.         Pic Credits  : Reena Prasad

Looking In

After years of living in houses with numbers,
names seem quaint
I like to read each one on gates
that grow bigger, taller with every passing year
The ones with the highest walls
have the tersest names
‚ÄėVision‚Äô is a mansion with huge, embellished gates
that hit my eyes when I try to see beyond their black sculptures and wrought iron
‚ÄėKovallathu Veetil Kunnampurathu Sasi Nivas‚Äô proclaims a one room shack
barely bigger than its name plate
Some bark at my curiosity,
chasing my footsteps till where their wall ends
Others have lonely, cold noses
sniffing over the hot concrete at my palm
trying to dissolve their jailhouse demeanor
The ones I love best have no walls
or gates
but bushes full of shoe flowers or rose
The bus is a mobile neighbour
The street is their doorway
Children read on the verandah floor
A cow looks in at the window
Fat hens cluck, digging busily in the dirt
The people in them look out and smile back easily
That I can smell and see them eat their tapioca and fish
from the street
is no deterrent to their happiness
or to mine
©Reena Prasad

A Dozen Dragonflies

The water babies by Charles Kingsley

A dozen dragonflies flew by today
Each as varied as the months in a year
Some content with the warmth of the land
Some sorrowful at the lack of petrichor
Some blissful with the gifts bestowed by time
Some teary-eyed at the bits buried under sand
Each with an unique shimmer in its wings
Fragile hearts that never sprout roots
None at least of regret for having flown
For home is always the same earth
that one carries within
Even as the world goes around

©Reena Prasad
on completing a dozen years in the desert

On The Road

The evening pauses at a red light
A man scratches a recharge card with his nails
A cat sits near his feet scratching its ear
He enters the numbers and turns away to talk
Maybe the cat eavesdrops
there is no one else around
The bored cat yawns and then licks its bum
to show its disdain
and disappears into the sunset
No one feels insulted
A green wink and a car whizzes past the scene
the driver absentmindedly scratches his head
thinking of mobiles, cats, waiting wives
and the futility of a life chasing lights
©Reena Prasad

Aroma of love


Aroma of fresh coffee
assumes its vital role
as a replacement for irresistible love
diffusing effortlessly in between moments
when a conversation ceases awkwardly
reminding of something that was alive once
but cannot be bothered to be
unearthed from its grave now
The creamy one turns away
from the richly bitter steam of the black twin
quelling a¬†‘two half empty cups under the bed’¬†nostalgia
when drunken lips rubbed, arched and were eaten
in froth-less silence
©Reena Prasad

Traveling through time- A sestina

The bus is on its winding way
young  and old travelling to a distant bay
trees on the road side sort the rays from heaven
In rhythmic harmony, on their seats strangers sway
Windows frame the men fishing on the river’s side
Time stops while the bus moves on and away

Life! Here is some time to while away
A pilgrimage to lands yet to come our way
Silence stretches out arms to every side
A cow moos, a wave laps at a rocky bay
A storm is fair too if someone shares the sway
Under the green corn, a poet plants a secret heaven

Ducks muse in another wormy heaven
Green guavas  punch the air, the bus moves away
Dusk kissing its rays, the sun begins to sway
Barren roads dotted with pines all the way
Daylight dims, earth still glows, the sky is a neon bay
Hazy mountain shapes loom on either side

Night takes the centre stage, clouds at her side
swirling up the sweat of labour, churning out a heaven
Earth wears black for the day has left her dark bay
A cold town sprints by, the village has receded away
Love birds fly home, a pale moon is on her way
Shawls, mufflers and sleep dull the bus’s¬†rickety sway

Jewels in the sky looking for a poet to sway
winking from glass panes on either side
Doubts rack minds set on a material way
A moment to count the blessings from heaven
for u
nder a common sky, strangers fade away
Wheels turn, the bus is now a warm, sheltered bay

A black form fades, dogs bay
At the end, the body stays in motion and the feet sway
Death- a sojourn to throw some debris away
They alone matter who stay at one’s side
Know we hold the one and only heaven
A smile is only some more love on its way

Trees outgrow the Bay, old age begs at the road Side
Travelers in time’s Sway never reach a dreamt Heaven
Life lumbers Away, time never retraces the same Way
©Reena Prasad
edited 4th feb 2014

Bubble world


A world I know
has an axe wedged into it
After each round of a Ferris wheel ride
it cracks a bit more apart ever so slowly
Looking around, I see more spit than art on its walls
the fissures growing apart, spreading their hairline fingers
like scraggly barren branches trying to grab at white fluff
Nothing can hold it all together much longer
bodies will fall into mindless chasms
and minds disappear into disembodied ravines
A final crunch: this glass globe will shatter
leaving behind a collective human wail
I wait eagerly for the final silence
after it all crumbles into dust
breathing in wet, green fields at the mere thought
of letting out the pent-up miasma of displeasure
this artificial cocoon forces into my breath
©Reena Prasad 21st May 2013

The road

 On The Road 1

 Don’t make the road long winded
don’t skip to reach the end
Days are never in a hurry
only the clock is
The farther I walk alone
the more I find myself at peace
Little plants stamped upon by careless jaunts
raise themselves
helped by the sun
and once standing, they go about
their work of adding buds and leaves
No one waits at the end
none for whom I have to wait
the journey begins when I open my eyes
and ends when I sleep

©Reena Prasad 26th May 2013



At the river bank is a girl
with an open book
trying to read a closed man
who hides himself in layers of words
and his soul in a fistful
of trapped breeze
He saunters through the pages
reading her thoughts
his heart stuffed into deep plots
She sits with a fishing rod
and pail to put her catch in
and all she gets is a breeze

©Reena Prasad 16th May 2013