Always a great honour to be at the one and only Duane’s PoeTree. Do read the commentary by Duane Vorhees in the comments by clicking on the link. That is the most interesting part of it.
Source: Duane’s PoeTree: Reena Prasad writes
I do not remember the things you said to me about me, for me I keep no tabs, no written words no saved files, no cut-copy-paste replicates nothing to prove their existence and ruthlessly level any secret hollows where they might creep in unnoticed and with passion, couple
Still they survive curling up into tender silences when we meet stretching out the little time between us into valleys uncontainable
Why should it matter if I am a common cur uncollared, untagged tail free to wag? Does it lessen me in any way to be unaffiliated to another? Does it make you see red and chafe at the chains around your neck, or arms or ankles?
for even the ones that tinkle ultimately lock you in So you try to have me mapped
Spread-eagled I wait while my eyes, sound, shape, colour, dress and words are pinned to a name a place a tongue a profession a family a community an ideology a crime a sex an adjective or several till you run out of tags And I am cut into perfect squares and stowed safely away into the boxes in your brain
Three poems in Alephi.com- “a new online Magazine from the Indian Subcontinent for all kinds of literary works in English”
‘Camouflage‘, ‘Duryodhan‘ and ‘Un-domesticating‘ published on 21st September 2016.
Camouflage My hair grew all white the night I met my grandmother prodding at the base of a rose bush with a long stick Snakes Grandma? I asked Egg shells, dear said she a little
of walking with newly protruding contours of being teased for staring a minute too long of talking with cracked voices and buck teeth of fingers pointing out our differences of answering hormone-dialled phone calls of overpowering our own mental boobs of not knowing the art of holding hands of looking nothing like movie people of breaking family curfews of pushing propriety off ledges of dreaming in tangled limbs of personalising movies clips while learning history of hiding the chameleons in our ears and cheeks of arranging accidental touch fests of embarrassing spurts of honest pubic hair of fleeing amoebic tendencies of feigning surprise at being found in the same room of saying drenched goodbyes while holding two umbrellas of meeting again in a world grown too small of letting go because we were still too raw to hold
we meet again
having shed every kind of skin having spent all our shored-up credits having produced the same results experimenting in separate labs
I love it that we are still awkward despite all the learning just frozen bits of time