Night, how can you close your eyes
when your love stands at the horizon
your radiance increasing by the hour
yet you veil yourself at the footsteps of dawn?
Day tiptoes in his eagerness
to catch a glimpse of your face
you kill your passion mercilessly
do you not die every day?
Hands extended across time, you are the darkness
bringing him solace
He carries the burning coals of the sun
and dreams about your velvet eyes
Published in the anthology “With Love” Xpresspublications 2013
also at Destiny Poets UK Link Here
The bird begins to call
The urgency in every note
entering me through the closed windows
through the key holes of locked doors
taking me away from the present chaos
fading my protests into silence
forcing me to run out and see
if the gate has somehow opened
I leave the shelves undusted
forget about the bubbling broth in the pan
Pushing obstacles out of my way
pulling off the noose round my neck
that claims to make decorum stay
freeing myself from every snare
that causes the least delay
I run and run as a frenzy takes hold
when out I pant and catch my breath
the gate is still locked
and I hear the bird
now sing from within my heart.
Published in ‘I am a poet’ Xpresspublications (2013)
Here Goes Post no.251, not a poem but a picture of all the 10 books in which my poems have been published.
A big Thank You to all my friends and readers whose constant encouragement and blessings
motivate me to keep writing and blogging !!
Special thanks to Barry Mowles, Brian Wrixon, Cyberwit and Xpress publications for including my poems in all these Anthology collections! Love you all and God bless!!
A skewed panorama
Never must we forget
what is etched now into the cornerstones of history
was once written on fragile canvases
by human hands like yours and mine.
Reins of kingdoms dropped on the way
picked up by sycophants of yesterday.
Sweetness of tongue splayed upon pages
when flattery became a life-saving shame.
Golden palaces or termite hills
or a shroud over decayed moral ills.
Benevolence and valour can even mean
nepotism and fantasia
translated in the mesmerising glare of glittering bait.
The true image drowned by time’s waves
re-emerging as heroism in twisted tales.
May the book serve as a beacon
in showing us the path ahead.
We often err in hiding behind it
for it never was, a shield for cowards
nor a walking stick of strong credentials
to bear the weight of human follies.
Let the mellow pages instead teach
the lessons which time forgot
in classrooms in the refreshing shade of a banyan.
‘O’ Eternal breeze! Do open our inner eyes!
©Reena Prasad Published in the anthology Indus Valley