Because they couldn’t kill me before I was born they try to throw me off every cliff, into flames and push me into deranged arms Blame me for straying too near the edge Praise me to high heavens when I am defeated/broken/ dead Decorate my rotting corpse with candlelight vigils Call me their favourite warrior names for losing the fight[Read More…]
You wave. The street splits into two The wrong turn is you An obsessed nostril sniffs out intentions Kisses are always political I want to stop and breathe out the years without you. The wind fleeing on a bird wing leaves me a feather The left is a body with an unwashed feel to it; It reeks of desire, of[Read More…]
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
She waits impatiently for the deep pits can swallow no more He comes drawn by the lure of quick money. At sunset, the deal is struck. Three bars of Lux soap, two large bottles of kerosene and coconut oil, a floor cleaning lotion, jasmine-scented (he insists on it) and 4000 rupees change hands but no handshakes are expected or given. They vanish into opposite dusks.
She into the house to fasten every window and spray fragrant Oud. He to the shop to binge on stuff that will quell reason and preserve his sanity. The night soil stream gallops through sleeping backyards as a well-oiled drunk works diligently, scooping up and surrendering all his rights, laughing and retching in turn at court orders spraying kerosene over each load of shit he pulls up till the slabs are cemented back
Glory Sasikala deserves all the credit for her painstaking compilation of yet another glowing issue of GloMag. She has been kind enough to include my poem’ Soul Thirst’ and even to find a complimenting image to go with it. Thank you Glory for your benevolence and love. The preface to this issue is by Lakshminarayan Nariangadu.
Reena Prasad GloMag July 2016
Knitted word webs Extensions of your deft fingers but with roots in base desires
An ancient being sprouts feathers Familiar shapes within the filigree A remembered thirst lives sunk deep into dried up streams when possession was not a requisite to love
My leaves droop on their own It is afternoon in the land of ardour Keep stamping out red ants from under your trees but apathy of a soul is final
Today we sat in perfect peace, I on my easy chair He on the window sill Looking out together into the wintery garden over the pebbles, at the fallen leaves the burst of marigold sunshine, the guava laden trees He stares gravely as if contemplating, perfectly still. I watch his handsome face, wondering what he sees
His eyes give nothing away, He seems to be smelling the breeze while watching a butterfly floating over the lawns at ease I turn my chair toward him, to secretly read his thoughts. Cleverer , he turns away as if to foil my plot Does he wonder about the sun as it plays hide and seek or accepts it without doubt as part of nature’s decrees?
Maybe he wonders if I am out of my mind sitting indoors though the weather is fine. He bears with my every flaw, ever benign. never going far, though I am rude sometimes Do I live with him or does he live with me An austere face, that stately walk- no less than any prince Dignified and calm, his feline charm,
always soothes my hurt A twitch of his tail, his ears go up, he crouches down, alert!