It is a Sunday


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Pic Credits : Dr Santosh Bakaya

 

 

It is a Sunday
There is grain on the street
Perhaps a pigeon will come

There are swings in the park
The school is closed
Perhaps a child will come to play

There are bougainvilleas in bloom
There is a breeze that hums
perhaps a butterfly may float here

Here is a street and a park
grain and flowers
swings and holidays
yet something is missing

The man who fed the pigeons
was shot here yesterday

Perhaps love will still come
one day

(C)Reena Prasad
Pic credit : Santosh Bakaya

Please visit
https://intothebardo.wordpress.com/2016/09/23/100tpc-2016/
for reading more participant posts for The BeZine’s online,
virtual 100,000 Poets for Change event.

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Amazing Time With Dr. Santosh Bakaya


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An  amazing human being and a fantastic writer! Am so proud to be her friend.

Colors of Life

It is an immense pleasure to interview Dr. Santosh Bakaya, A Reuel International Award winner. So without wasting even a second let’s start asking Dr. Santosh some questions here. But before that read a quote by Dr. Santosh Bakaya.

It is love and love alone that moves this wide, wonderful, whacky world. had there been no love and just hatred, the world would have hurtled down an abyss long back.
– Dr. Santosh Bakaya

1. Tell us something about yourself

.At the very outset let me thank you for this opportunity , and let me also emphasise that as a teacher, I have always appreciated the  creative spark and dynamism in the youth . So Anuj, hats off to you for your enterprising work.

Well, I am an ordinary person, but always on the lookout for the extraordinary in life. My family tells me that I am always on a high…

View original post 873 more words

Loyal to Life


live-Life-Coaching

Loyal to life
I have never learnt to divide
and I refuse to believe
there are none handicapped like me
but where are they?
I have never been ‘flexible’ in my loyality
Have never been pushed to a wall
Never had a gun put to my head and asked to choose
or to shoot
But if ever I had to
Was forced to make a choice
between ‘us’ and ‘them’
whoever it be on the ‘other’ side
I would be dead
before any innocent could die because of me
Where I am
there are people all around
just people, mere living beings
no boundaries
All these deaths
Such a ghastly disrespect for life
Surely there was One who could kill himself
before he let his hands kill another?
©Reena Prasad

Wake up


The bells toll
but these are of bicycles
Jostling and pushing each other
in their hurry to reach where ever.
Small tea-shops, odd assortment
of ties, lungi, vest and shoes
gossip centering around  the news.

Bread and cheese ones, in swanky mansions
– the television juggling their views.
Money controlling facial gestures
Get – a smile, take – a frown
Changing mental wallpapers
now simplified
The gory killing on the screen
neither shocks nor registers.
Indifference
and no after effects.

Murder
cold blooded murder
yet not of the person they think it was
Murder of faith as men turn into mercenaries
Misled by hunger- induced hallucinatory
images of being missionaries
Murder of the lone human race
Why  kill? Why want something
in exchange of a death?

Humble origins of homo sapiens
maybe we still carry
some  blue-green algae in our bloody veins
Our fishes ,our trees, our tribe
Now
My land, my state, my country
Mission forgotten
to carry evolution forward
To safely hand over earth
To the unborn warriors
untaught in the chakravyuh of politics.

Exaggerating trivial  issues
to the gory point
of a fellow being’s ultimate sacrifice
dividing  lives into countries, faiths
amidst noise and  hollow victories.

Hear pleas
crafted with the essence of loss
of crushed, sacrificed, innocent buds.
This was the promised land
They too wanted to throw stones
into the pond
to take a rain walk
to dream  in the moon shine
But they could not
For their life lines were cut with hateful blades
even though earth had enough
for all.

Generation of blood art
Let us wipe out this unholy graffiti
from human walls
It is not too late.
©Reena