Spring Eternal

by Reena Prasad

Under the clear water, my toes explored
smooth, brown pebbles
while a white thorth swung like a hammock between us
Little fish darted about in our white pool
unaware of its cottony limits
till we let them go free into the
filtered sunlight dancing on the pebbles
Beautiful in her red pavada and blouse
and a kumkum spot between her brows
I admired her wordlessly-
silver anklets, long black hair, apples everywhere
and a crinkly smile.

I met her yesterday -
this lovely sister of mine. Still smiling
but with wrinkles where a dimple once lived
with broken toe nails, sparse, grey
a dried apricot- her beauty all squeezed out
Then I saw her daughter
and found the reservoir intact again


thorth- thin,cotton towel
pavada- long, flowing skirt common in Kerala
kumkum- turmeric/saffron with slaked lime( bright red powder)

My last leaf

by Reena Prasad

The heron is back. Drops quiver at the edge of a wing
I am transfixed watching the last leaf fall yet again
I am the drop easily latching on to a strange feather
yet there is life in the depths for me even if I let go

I am swept by random waves into sandy cups of sea water.
Shells mark the grave where my last desire is buried yet there I will never lie.
I am the liquid surge of the unknown bursting into bloom on a temple tree
My wilderness burbling with distilled essences dances bough and root within me

I belong to the tender rain, the rogue sea, the ephemeral mist and the
blossom-kissed tree
yet I am not destroyed by what holds me
unlike the big fish thrashing at the curve of a stabbing bill
My last leaf will never remember me

Kerala rising

by Reena Prasad

Autocorrect will not allow me to write Kerala
without changing it to One Billion Rising Kerala
Nine days of sunshine, hymn chants, drum beats
 mashed tapioca and ripe jackfruit scented afternoons
 babblers in the backyard, blue streaks on trees
 scampering life among bushes, bare earth between toes,
 time standing still then rushing by on a bike
 toddy dancing on streets, temple fests with Kozhikodan
 Kulkki sarbaths, an evening in a super fast ksrtc bus
 armed with safety pins and roasted peanuts
 watching fat brown cows, yellow chicks and sleepy kittens
 herons in paddy fields, cricket in the alleys,
 early blooms of Kani konna yellow, brown dry leaves
 the taste of cool well water, green mangoes and fresh chips
 the bluest of skies, caws heralding visitors, long forgotten fruits
 warmth of family, familiarity of the air, heightened desires
 a billion of them still rising
 and the plane lands in the desert once more

Kintsukuroi

by Reena Prasad

 Kintsukuroi they call it
 The art of mending with gold
 It works on people too-
 too fragile to be recycled
 and too human to be sewed

 An aranjanam and a radiant nettichutti
 to offset the paleness that unslept nights
 had bestowed
 Bangles to hush up the name
 she whispered sometimes
 to the breeze
 Zari edges of her sari to cover up the
 unsteady trip of her feet
 The gilt to light up her husband’s house
 to thaw the strangeness
 and make her feel at ease
 She entered, right foot first
 and was swallowed by obscurity
 Her golden padasarams kept beat
 to the fading music of her subdued ankles
 though an image of a broken silver one
 on a bare chest
 caused cracks in the mirror
 when she looked


Author's note:
aranjanam = waist chain
nettichutti = a head jewel
padasaram = anklets

A walk to forget

by Reena Prasad

The waves licked our feet
 reminding me of resolute wings
 pushing their feathers out through gaps
 I had kept hidden

 You pointed out the rocks with mossy hair
 I saw a stream of clear water trapped in between
 A small Gulliver in Brobdingnag

 Behind us the sun fell
 The darkness was no match
 for your angry bewilderment
 or my lack of colour within.

Exploring silence

by Reena Prasad

The sound stills itself at times
waiting for cleverer ones to have their say
In that brief interlude, I search
for a reverberation of my thoughts
in this orb of acoustic mazes
Drop a silent sigh here
It rebounds back the next moment
its echoes lingering, feeling, exploring the twilight zones
hanging like bats in unseen crooks
to come flying back
and swat me into stillness

In the dissonance of lively voices
talking themselves hoarse to keep out milder ones,
the rustles, the sighs, the whispers, the hums
make me marvel at their innate softness
but my silence
kept out of the picture for too long
envies these mellow beauties
and longs to make itself heard too
It thunders, it yells, it roars, it wails
There is no respite ever.

The secret garden

by Reena Prasad

 The scents and sounds talk to me
 I walk hushing my pollen-dotted anklets
 a butterfly among the black bees
 the search elusive, a garden unknown
 trepidation in every flutter
 the message brought by the wind
 safely hidden in my folded wings
 I can reciprocate but not in this Eden
 do not acknowledge my invisible rustles
 A bumbling bee's eager overture
 may be a lethal slip today
 blow my dust around, but within your self
 admonish your fingers, just do not touch -
 breathe in the beauty of silence,
 the joy of unsaid thought
 for the sake of a flitting love
 be a mute witness today.

Flowering nights

by Reena Prasad

An earthen lamp sits in smoky vigil
Dusk spreads beyond the courtyard tree
Burning incense sticks smolder
till they crumble into grey dust

Come home, the roses are sparkling wet
The dew-drenched lady
is quietly walking by.

Night glances in
through the creeper-draped glass
only to look away and ponder at large.

The Nishagandhi has bent
under the will of the rain
drizzling sweetness even in defeat.

Warm breaths hush the talkative bangles
but naughty anklets continue to smile and peep
Drops of water dot the cool, mud pitcher
Drops of water break into sweaty beads
Reality whispers but sleep cajoles.

Waiting for a bee to return back to me
Spring of my soul, I bloom no more
When darkness embraces my curled-up toes
a gentle need seeps through my inner whorls.

A bud in precocious bloom, a butterfly sensing doom
a moth settling for a vagrant hue
or am I the colour of a summer night
fading too soon?

Crushed jasmine buds dot a bridal bed
as a tender night falls into a scented dream.

Straws

by Reena Prasad

If I could comfort
by sending a happy thought
to dangle upon your window sill,
swinging itself up and down like a monkey
in the hope that you could find in it
a glimpse of something well loved,
lost to the hurrying feet of time

for a desire
to see a fleeting smile,
a slight decrease in the number of furrows
seeps into me …

as you tear yourself apart
to pull out the shining stars
that gnaw and bite your insides
and pour your love all over the table
to become a specimen
for everyone’s delight .

They see beauty in the raw sewage
and applaud all the broken bits.

Sap

by Reena Prasad

Sap oozes into brown coconut shells
Firm hands grasp the trunks
The mercilessly cut, gasp

Slanting hordes of trees
stretch up, wailing silently
at the fleeing sun
White blood trickles
under the cover of plastic
as nature cries a drizzle
over her unedible milk

Hot tea talks to a damp newspaper
discussing the falling price of life
Age stumbles around with rubber sheets
chasing the afternoon sun.

Low grade tears continue
after the tapping knife has taken away
the virgin milk
till one day the NRI needs
all his golden eggs together

The trees milked dry
stand ready for the slaughter
The aged one wonders about her daily gruel
after the loot has been stashed away

Eventually the sap in every vein
dries out.