Abandoned, forgotten passwords, we will be buried and burnt. Or replaced. Our laughter stripped of its sound bytes will freeze in frames. Our conversations will loiter in the marketplaces of lost cities Their wise songs have gone, dashed against cliffs. Wiping off dewdrops from grass lips, the day stretches. Its grayness splits. A bird sings from a branch. Both are[Read More…]
Source: Songs of the Dead – Countercurrents
Remnants in GloMag April 2018
GloMag is the coming together of writers in their diverse manifestations, thoughts, and expressions, and the visual interpretation of these. Sometimes the original thought of the writer gets completely lost in the interpretations. Visual aids help us to decipher the writer’s intentions, and at the same time, enhance the reading experience – page 232
Source: GloMag GloMagApril18 – Page 232
Thank you Raamesh Gowri Raghavan for including ‘Strings’ in Narrow Road. An amazing issue.
(Strings- First published at Learning and Creativity.com Feb 2016)
Very happy to be a part of GloMag March 2018. Thank you Glory Sasikala for yet another brilliant issue! Much gratitude to dearest Aruna Edula for the image.
Of Gates, Goats and Roses is on pages 77-78
GloMag is the coming together of writers in their diverse manifestations, thoughts, and expressions, and the visual interpretation of these. – page 76
Source: GloMag GloMagMarch18 – Page 76
She speaks from my womb Last time it was her entrails yelling having been pounded, wrung and spread out to die in wide eyed surprise at yet another killing
Source: A Thousand Deaths And Still She Asks – Countercurrents
Always great to be up at Duane’s Poe🌴
Source: Duane’s PoeTree: Reena Prasad writes
AESTIVATION
The road is an arid breath
wheezing through barren boughs
I unpacked you on the green bed
My hair flying wild
Bees humming about silken valleys
We left together to explore the trail
of a dust-swept summer
Drunk bees still buzzed in hordes
till a flycatcher caught up with us
Your summer, a mirage
A shimmering wall of sorrow
Dry-eyed, I listened to its howl
They lamented in Nizwa and Sohar
yet you held your sorrow in
waiting for Khareef
The Hajar mountains twisted to get
a glimpse of tourists
fooled by bursts of paper blooms
Parched, we returned
A white eye of a flycatcher followed us
The wall wept then at my infecundity
But in my rucksac, carefully preserved roots lived
To soak in tap water at leisure
and bring forth a trail of sprouting greens
I smelt then
the base notes of a buried south-westerly monsoon
feeling buds of earthy love
from this land of hidden green
burst open beneath dry skin
© Reena Prasad
GloMag May 2016
