Aroma of love


coffee_in_heart_shaped_cups_hd

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

Fishing


tumblr_m82dszxwEU1raa01go1_500

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

 

Two for joy


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

 
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

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

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‘s 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

Sweetly sour


 

There isn’t a word, self-deprecating enough
for the feeling that engulfed me
when a red filament glowed in my dark cellar
and knowledge shoved its hands, twisting itself
into the cosy crevice which sheltered me,
pulling delicate membranes of thought apart
till it ensured a slit
large enough to let day in
while tongue extended, I waited
for the honeyed dew to drip
and shrewd mice ran around,
waiting for stray tidbits.

When light flooded the hole,
streaming slants of dust particles danced
where hitherto a rainbow had languidly posed
revealing planned palaces
balanced on strong foundations
by those who passed the sugar pot
while flitting through my dark corridors.

Staring now at my blank wall, standing as
a prop, upholding their dream
I smile and dream on,
throwing a fluffy stole over some misgivings
determined not to dim their lights
for my castle was conjured within
a reckless bubble of implicit trust.

©Reena Prasad 22nd Nov 2012

Nests


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

Conditioned


She watches him hang out the wet clothes
Wrung out, machine-dried
Rigid with anger because she is sick
He is angry at the unmade bed,
at the baby clothes dangling from the chair
Anger turning him into a quiet worker.
he sweeps the bread crumbs
pushing them harshly out
from under the table.
Bitterness chokes her
Guilt for being sick
Sick of feeling guilt.

©Reena Prasad 5th Nov 2012