Worship for the future devout
The prodigal plastic barbie
pictures of bigots
excavated mud pots
violent souvenirs
kitchen sinks
driftwood from oceans
unsold poetry books
rejected manuscripts
vomit of the disgusted earth
Remnants of lost prisons
wandering insanity
human chains masquerading as divine bracelets
glass marbles buried by little fingers
A little doll lies under rocks
its owner lost to the sea
to resurface in a new impuissant world
walking on moon and stars
yet looking to the sky and sea
for bonus divine intervention
Build a hallowed pedestal
if you are human
Declare the orphaned toy
a god.

©Reena Prasad edited on 3rd march 2013

Published in Daniela Voicu’s anthology “http://revistacuib.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/revista-martie-20131.pdf

Two for joy

Been mulling over inane love stories- real and bollywood and this is what results ūüôā

Two for joy

Two tigers lie
outside a log cabin
licking paws, scratching themselves
amiable in the sunlight
till they spot her at the window
tips of their tails twitch and jerk
the thought runs around
who gets the prey?
the one who loves her
or the one she loves
her fate the same either way.
©Reena Prasad 10th Jan 2013

The missing link

This time around, I was prepared
and waited till the sky within
darkened into the deepest black
then set out with a candle flame
to search for a missing heart
Ripped in two,
it hung from a thorn
yet no blood stained the forest floor
no hyena wandered near
Now I knew why the darkness came
every time the shutters fell
But knowing never helps at all
to stem the tide of pain.
©Reena Prasad 5th Jan 2013

Published in Daniela Voicu’s anthology here http://revistacuib.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/revista-martie-20131.pdf

He roams in a human form..beware

Milder specimens of the same species
roam silently all around
caressing outlines of females
who pander to their whims
They hide in the shadows
around every candle held high
Retreating a few steps back
if the light falls upon them
Silent on hearing our collective roars
but hunters when in packs chasing a lone deer
Their strength lies in numbers
in the injured, mutilated psyche of the victim
who becomes one the moment she spots them
She is defeated first by her history of defeat
crucified by the ones donning a protective mantle
and mercilessly crunched with a snigger
along with cups of roadside tea.
©Reena Prasad 29th Dec 2012

I cannot RIP


Words, borrowed from others
refuse to settle into respectable patterns
Ashamed of the inadequate mastery of thoughts
raging in a vacuum of lost hopes
refusing to represent a hollow me
in the absence of concrete action
consumed by helplessness
They fling violent questions at me
questioning my sanity
Why I still hold a pen
amidst hallucinations of iron rods in my hand
and see visions of castrated drunks
Why I insist on hooking a tiny finger
into a slippery loop of reason
while dangling over female graves
where devils with short, frontal tails revel
and jeer in a celebration of anarchy
and see not the flaming fury of revolt
passing through my brain
but only my naked thighs.
©Reena Prasad 29th Dec 2012

They surface again..those fears

There is no life in those leaves,
the torn pages, the cold stars,
None in the dead
whom you seem to venerate in your poems
What role will these abject corpses have
in our lives- you may ask one day
when there is nothing more to wring
from the plaintive night
and we sit stifling our freer sides
lest the abrasive ends make contact
I hope to goad you towards such questions
which I know will ever lie unasked
yet ever curious about my own psyche,
I give birth to imagined fetuses.

Some dry leaves swathe a frenzied flow
stiff with the rigor mortis of emotions
I carry them gingerly, cradling them
fearing an embrace may destroy their rigid form
I fumble-an otter in high heels,
balance them like an old bar hand
steady myself to leap over whirlpools
and I no longer know the rules I make up
as time flows along
and life to me is not warm and comforting
like a mother’s lap,
but a burning valley between tender breasts,
nursing a flame that may melt the cultivated chill
and cause the ‚Äėkeep out‚Äô fence to collapse.

A world lies wondrous beyond all the artifice
I fear I may not be a swimmer enough
scared to awaken a sleeping soul mate
with a similar chunk of warmth frozen within
Terrified of the increase in the width of your eyes
when I smile through words while some images weep
Afraid of love seeping in
like a caressing hand on the nape of my neck
And I protect my dying tree fiercely
wary of free scoops of love or words
though my safety harness lies caught on broken twigs
and my qualms plummet down like dead leaves.
©Reena Prasad 10th dec 2012

Of snakes and ladders

The door shut, a loud bang
The game became an obsession
From a window, I watched your anger grow
till it made you turn on your heel
and there behind you were several doors
all flung open
now that mine was closed
and you did what I wanted you to
Chose the one, not nearest but the best
that lead you up several floors
like the ladder next to the huge snake’s jaw
which you hoped to get with each throw
And I sit on the other side of the forgotten door
waiting for a last knock
watching the serpent‚Äės tail
edge close

©Reena Prasad  13th Dec. 2012

A deserted battlefield


A deserted road yawns its displeasure
as I creep along its side
on hands and knees
lest they notice I am alive
My skin already brown, still clothed
to match their dusty tyre tracks
My hair camouflaged so as
not to raise their hackles
if their roving eyes notice me
Alive in a softer form
drawing ire for daring to breathe
in their presence
I who suckled them
infusing colour into their frail bodies
must now tremble
draped in black?
My savaged core
no longer sheds tears
I have paid up in full
the penalty for bearing and loving monsters
and soon they will walk the empty streets
as symbols of wretched, inhuman egos
as mutilators of the female flesh
having failed to subdue my spirit
having failed to dim my light
clutching leaking wombs that fail to register
their puny thrusts.

©Reena prasad 23rd Dec 2012