Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’


Posted: February 22, 2020 in Uncategorized, writings
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she turns
her center still,
in an age-old hula
with an invisible hoop.
to her soundless gaze,
concealing her
wild-whispered seeking,
dawn speaks
a languid language
of merlot and gold and
borders smudged.

© Anuradha Prasad 2020



via twitter


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Hello, my name? H.
Your good name?

He tilts his head and
awaits my good name.

Me? I am engineer.
Software field, he adds.

What do you do? I write,
I say, a touch smug.

Perplexed, he freezes:
processing, searching.

Just as I fear a shutdown,
a reload!

Eyes screwed, he asks,
um, writing?

Ya, I affirm.
Copy, you know.

He runs his fingers along
the air between us, a piano.

So you are a typer?
No! I am a writer.

But you type, no? Again,
his fingers play the air.

Yes, I reply.
So you are a typer!

That declared, a pleased
smile sits on his lips.

I acquiesce.

© Anuradha Prasad 2019


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You blanket me
mold my bones
and flesh
sparing me
the comfort of
clarity. Brown
and brimming:
how i love you.

It’s the taunts, their
memory, stealth strikes
betraying secrets.
Must you be blatant?
So unforgiving?
Why hold my flaws
to the mirror,
to light?

Hold them instead in
the heart, a comforting
secret, till the heart
confuses it for love
for what else does the
heart know but love?

Until one day, deceived
it’ll give away;
splinters will run through
it, raspy breaths, maybe
i will clutch at it,
who cares?
so long as you
glow and radiate

© Anuradha Prasad 2019


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I am from a loud place
of many small things
old things, old furies, old
hands saying stop.

I am from feathers angelic
of the flying kind, yet I’m
grounded, only the heart aerial
never carrying me away from
me. A homing pigeon, it returns
from far-flung places, telling me
stories in flutters, and feathers
fall all over me like promises,
maybe consolations.

I am from coffee, diluted
with milk to make me drink
milk, nurturing instead an
insomniac, a night owl who
burns like the stars and holds
in her veins the seduction of
the moon, dark and cold
moon with pause, of disquiet.

I am from pages torn, balled,
and burned. A bonfire that reduced
me to ashes. I rise again, the ashes
they cling, never am I free of
ashes. Burn child burn.

I am from no-nos. Don’t do this.
Don’t do that. Good girls are made
not born. Be a good girl. That’s like
a good girl. A good girl was forced
under my skin. I said my good byes,
she peers out at me now and again.

© Anuradha Prasad 2019


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the egg, once warm
and protective,
grew into suffocation.
growing bigger
against the fragile
the chick knocked
it down, cracked
its prison open.

falling out
wet and ugly
little blind eyes
squeezed shut
hurt by sunlight.
it grew stronger
fed on sun, rain,
worms, berries.
downy feathers
appeared. Pleased
mama chirped goodbye.

the fledgling
stretched its little
opened it, danced
looking up
it saw the miles
of blue it would fly.

one blue day
it watched a
great big eagle
of might and beauty.
the fledgling
struck by the
breathtaking vision
puffed its little
chest and flapped
wings just as the
eagle fell, stone
to ground, going
splat and none
of its regality
remained –
guts spilled
feathers flew
a foot high,
fell fizz flat.

The fledgling
put its wings down
lay in its nest
watched the
sky, now bare.
The fledgling
learned to love
her nest
her fate
until one day
when she said,
oh, sod it,
and flew
the blue sky
her destiny.

© Anuradha Prasad 2019



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child shadow
long shadow
old shadow.

skyblue windows
milkysap tree
icecold ghosts.

glass pregnant:
living snow
buzzing bees.

tube twist
crayon pillar
making lips.

sea streaming
face buried
cotton shoulders
birthday baby.

whistling breath
flames whoosh
three candles stand

© Anuradha Prasad 2019

(Written in response to one of the prompts at the poetry workshop by Sourav Roy at Atta Galatta)




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summer condenses
where my knee
rolls past
calf to tendon
a tear, wet-tailed

© Anuradha Prasad 2019


Image: Hampi © Anuradha Prasad 2019

Thoughts like sun, blazing
ochre spreading across
a sky, setting fire to all
in its path, strips of clouds
alight in fleeting flames –
mauve, fuchsia, tangerine
dissolving into darkness,
a brass-plated oblivion
against which he pounds
full fisted and forgetting
this too shall pass.

© Anuradha Prasad 2019


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The heart opens to the
yin and yang breath
of a love song:
the float of a wayward
leaf caught in the grain
of the breeze.

I stand witness to its play.
Reason is stumped. I drop
all restraint, clink-clank,
they fall at my feet.

I pray for mercy.
I join the play.
I love again.

© Anuradha Prasad 2019