NaPoWriMo 13 : Petrichor

Velleka in the rain                                                   Pic credit : Reenaprasad

Scent of renewal 


Somewhere when it rains
a boy runs barefoot to a stream
A page is torn
and he beams at his little boat
to overcome a mound of roots
that threatens its passage

It breaks free
and bobs merrily for a while
enjoying the bumpy ride
till the rain plays traitor
and wets its fragile insides

He shouts with glee
insistant that all should leave 
their irrelevant preoccupations
and come to see his warrior ship
fighting the elements to the death

Few bother to
They smile indulgently
and rebuke him gently
for abusing the hallowed notebook
not seeing
the greatest lesson that he would ever need
was being taught by the stream, the boat
and rain

forever to be remembered
rising from within him as petrichor
when in another time, place or season
he the boat, would move in circles
without rhyme or reason
unable to see the drift of things

Then the rain would come
drenching his arid mud
with the reassuring scent of a land 
and he would find the notebook again
and tear off another page
©Reena Prasad



Where is the poem?

It is not poetry if the reader doesn’t cringe
Where is the blood, spit and phlegm ?

I washed them all out before
hanging the poem out to dry

In this land girls are taught to hide
when they bleed
lads to flaunt their sticks and stones
and you want me to write more of it
when the newspaper is almost free?

See how the poem evades you
It has learnt our ways
©Reena Prasad

Image transfers

Eyes lie embedded in the vagabond soul
apparently unseeing  yet the panorama swings
from myopic realities to cosmic patterns
All captured with clarity, in a blink of an eye

Aromas of life swirled in an hourglass of time
effortless surrender  to words ,full-bodied, sublime
Soporific hours, always a synchronized battlefield
Poring soul’s bloody ink onto imaginary lines

When the balm of love caresses un-mendable  rags of time
Hundreds of kaleidoscopic butterflies burst upon the scene
Each brings a pearl delving into depths of Salacia’s lap
A wordsmith’s insight emerges for the ultimate grinding

Then it shows up as a sparkling jewel to discerning eyes
Luxuriating on an exalted throne in their luminous souls
Thus the sojourn ends breezing along truant,illuminated alleys
Holographing  omnipresent eyes onto a peacock’s wondrous stole
©Reena Prasad

Published  in Vayavya

Pool of creation

Pool of creation

Those tentacles have taken hold of me

I flounder and struggle to keep afloat

With head held just above water

I give life to a torturous ode.


Deeper into the quagmire, the wild weeds entice

A lotus folds its petals, trapping exploring limbs inside

Overhanging boughs of wizened trees rake my upturned face

In the writhing throes of creation, I straighten the twisted lies.


Between the miasmic plains and myth-infested forest

This marsh has been the grave for many muse lovers

They hang on to frail roots, unwilling to be prey

Yet destined to be swallowed by mires of churning whey.


Open- jawed alligators sniff at ornate poetic skulls

Gazing fascinated-at fools who brave a dip into hell!