A walk to forget


The waves licked our feet
reminding me of resolute wings
pushing their feathers out through gaps
I had kept hidden

You pointed out the rocks with mossy hair
I saw a stream of clear water trapped in between
A small Gulliver in Brobdingnag

Behind us the sun fell
The darkness was no match
for your angry bewilderment
or my lack of colour within
©Reena Prasad

Published at The Camel Saloon

My last leaf

Striated heron (1)

The heron is back. Drops quiver at the edge of a wing
I am transfixed watching the last leaf fall yet again
I am the drop easily latching on to a strange feather
yet there is life in the depths for me even if I let go

I am swept by random waves into sandy cups of sea water.
Shells mark the grave where my last desire is buried yet there I will never lie.
I am the liquid surge of the unknown bursting into bloom on a temple tree
My wilderness burbling with distilled essences dances bough and root within me

I belong to the tender rain, the rogue sea, the ephemeral mist and the blossom-kissed tree
yet I am not destroyed by what holds me
unlike the big fish thrashing at the curve of a stabbing bill
My last leaf will never remember me
©Reena Prasad


8. Kintsukuroi

they call it
the art of mending with gold
It works on people too-
too fragile to be recycled
and too human to be sewed
An aranjanam and a radiant nettichutti

to offset the paleness that unslept nights
had bestowed
Bangles to hush up the name
she whispered sometimes
to the breeze
Zari edges of her sari to cover up the
unsteady trip of her feet
The gilt to light up her husband’s house
to thaw the strangeness
and make her feel at ease
She entered, right foot first
and was swallowed by obscurity
Her golden padasarams kept beat
to the fading music of her subdued ankles
though an image of a broken silver one
on a bare chest
caused cracks in the mirror
when she looked

©Reena Prasad

*aranjanam= waist chain
Nettichutti= Maang tikka or a head jewel ( see pic)
Padasaram= anklets

Exploring silence


The sound stills itself at times
waiting for cleverer ones to have their say
In that brief interlude, I search
for a reverberation of my thoughts
in this orb of acoustic mazes
Drop a silent sigh here
It rebounds back the next moment
its echoes lingering, feeling, exploring the twilight zones
hanging like bats in unseen crooks
to come flying back
and swat me into stillness

In the dissonance of lively voices
talking themselves hoarse to keep out milder ones,
the rustles, the sighs, the whispers, the hums
make me marvel at their innate softness
but my silence
kept out of the picture for too long
envies these mellow beauties
and longs to make itself heard too
It thunders, it yells, it roars, it wails
There is no respite ever.

©Reena Prasad  May 1st 2013
Published in the Camel Saloon. Link HERE.