The Snake, The Red herring And A Ramble – FemAsia Magazine

FemAsia, Asian women’s journal carries my poem “The Snake..” in their Jan 2021 issue. Thank you Editor-in-chief Shameela Yoosuf Ali! A wonderful issue and I am of course delighted to be in it! Do read.

It is strange how free one is when totally bound  Feet and fingers working on Unthinking unfeeling unconnected beings oblivious to what the rest is doing Time defeated, curls into a corner  no longer willing to wait the night out without sleep Morning comes-a mechanical being with a huge flashlight  Muttering about loose ends and […]

Source: The Snake, The Red herring And A Ramble – FemAsia Magazine

Blog – Indie Blu(e) Publishing

Thanks to Candice Louisa, Megha Sood, Christine E Ray, Kindra M Austin and Indie Blu(e) team for this mighty book. Two of my poems are included in here- ” Other Tongue” and “Changing The Hole Narrative” . Received my contributor PDF copy and am thrilled at the power in those pages! Will share my poems soon.
Do buy this mighty book! Links below!

Source: Blog – Indie Blu(e) Publishing

The World Literature Blog: FIVE POEMS BY REENA R

A very happy 2021 to all my friends. This post is all about the kindness inherent in my writer friends who have taken great pains to keep me and my poetry alive and hold the fort for me when I was unable to be there to do it myself. I thank each one of them for being there uncompromisingly and wish them every happiness in this new year. To each one of you( you know who you are) who read, liked, shared, published, visited my poems and enquired/wished/blessed/prayed for me and my family, I have nothing to give in return except undying gratitude and love and hopefully more poems.
Source: The World Literature Blog: FIVE POEMS BY REENA R

The Song Tree

It is been all blue since I left the green
and the green has now left me
to look for fresher breaths

Autumn’s masterpiece, I belong
to the artists who flock around
hoeing, ploughing and raking
through the seasons
all because of a mad need to sow

The suns I have swallowed
nest in me
heirloom rings of my age

No longer do I need to be leafed
to feel beautiful
A naked tree is truth
The naked truth is me

A song I hold dear rings clear
A song without fear
A song with all our fears
A song stolen from earth
and snatched from the heavens
A song inside a bit of fluff
A song arresting the floating fluff above
that comes visiting with the breeze

A lonely song that brings succor
to the poet below wandering
with ink in her veins

A poem that becomes a tree
A tree that becomes a bridge
A bridge that the song travels on
The song that is you and me

Silent. Evergreen.



When night spreads herself out
like a sheer drop from the balcony,
floats weightlessly in the breeze
and then resurfaces to show off
her brilliant gold-lined eyes,
I cannot sleep

for she tells me that to be seen amidst
all that darkness
I must wear the stars
even if they are all suns
which scorch and burn

I stay up to show her the scars,
the singed skin
the ferocious imprints of hugging a wild sun once lost to me
the molten lava
that streams from my eyes
and she calls me beautiful


Amnesia Dell

Come away to where amnesia lives
It is a dell beyond a far away hill
With a sun and a moon to give us light
and warm rooms to lodge us on rainy nights

There are stalls with hearts on fire
Reach in, give them yours
and get the one you desire
Then you will see things my way
and why I have always been running away

There is a map folded carefully for you, see
It shows just the street where we will meet
But if you go back ever, you will forget where you had been
Amnesia town and its streets will no longer be seen




Gritty cactus stalks rubbed by the desert
make up convincing desires
and uncertain, my heart drums out
undulating rhythms

Sand slopes over sand
ever pristine
burying its predecessor with finesse

A conversation gentle, familiar
but not the words
I thrill to its cadence
It is language I knew once
It kisses my heart
yet misses my lips

I want to join in
but the sand has settled over the voices
The silence is another desert
I am a lone cactus
listening to an almost song
swirling around my roots
slipping over purple milkweed blooms
coming home scented

Even though my leaves no longer fit into the fading shadows
my emptiness is soothed
(c) Reena

NaPoWriMo 6/if


A tough terrain that stretches yesterday into tomorrow is where ifs thrive as burrs. There are some on the faded jeans I treasure. If you could pull out the ones you wear upon yours, give them away, cross a few continents and wait for me in that narrow lane between the middle-class homes where the tulsis grow like weeds and pink roses bloom like teen love, we could hear the gong once more and if the gray hairs and the loose folds could be erased by the receding waves of time tugging at the blankets of moss that grow over human joys, we would still be smiling, brave and earnest. We could walk back a year in a step and cross the words that parted us, crushing them under our shoes if .. if ifs were our tomorrows, ours to hold, to cherish and to let go, there would be an if before every breath that left in search for yours and before every breath that returned vanquished, bereft of warmth