Posts Tagged ‘writings’

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Ephemeral hieroglyphs,
infinite destinies,
them,
stars.

© Anuradha Prasad, 2017

 

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The long shadows
of my mind’s night
my true

north.

I brew the
alchemy of wisdom
healed by my

heart.

© Anuradha Prasad, 2017

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The fever of sleep
in my skin

tugs me in gently.
Falling in,

the dark sea dances
me a fata morgana

of wrath and peace
of peace and wrath.

I have strayed
away and into

the duality of being;
all is dark, all is dance.

© Anuradha Prasad, 2017

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I

The bonfire –
a witch’s hat of
twigs, branches –
crackles eating spitting
exhaling
smoke-choked
once upon a times.

II

The eye of the sun
looks over
the ash-grey threshold.

In the wake
of surging orange,
a spreading sky stain
of cerulean,

a birthing of new
ever afters.

© Anuradha Prasad, 2017

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Night flashed its silver searchlight
on the beasts of memory
arriving in fragments
disconnected, static
moving in pictures
frame by frame
dead but for
the energy.

© Anuradha Prasad, 2017

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The night you saw
me
by the moon-silvered
stream,

was I the
dream,
or were you
moving
through me,

deep
under my
closed
eyelids making
night.

© Anuradha Prasad, 2017

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A firefly sailed
out of the black
heart of a green tree,
a spark adrift.

Night made beautiful.

© Anuradha Prasad, 2017

 

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stoic night of blazing venus
silent canvas to

montage of sounds
bracketed by walls.

rough-hewn barks
approaching heightening disappearing

susurrus leaves,
winter’s children now dead

eye flutter, jagged breath
deep. even. slow.

toward oblivion i drift.

© Anuradha Prasad, 2017

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the moon is full
behind tangled tree limbs,

they do little to muffle
her loud beauty: she glows

the color of butter, pierced with
the sharp sheen of metal.

time’s lazy sky meander
softens her gaze, thaws her cool

she sighs in soft puffs
of silver breath, birthing

a surging living
celebration of her divinity.

© Anuradha Prasad, 2017

six minutes

Posted: February 4, 2017 in Uncategorized, writings
Tags: , ,
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Tall men, short men, men with grey hair, men with no hair, men with a headful of hair, men wearing glasses, men with bare eyes, men.

A boy with thick glasses presses the folds of a paper; his hair is touched with grey.

A girl with bangs. Hippie flower child. Tall. Lean. Blissed out.

Mouth set in a slight scowl. Doesn’t smile often. His eyes scan the paper.

Men with bags, men clean shaved, men holding paper, men with cellphones, men with earphones, men.

A woman laughs.

She shakes as she laughs, a red stole carelessly thrown over her shoulder.

Men wearing sports shoes, men with unkept feet, men staring blankly, men on the phone, men forming soundless words, men.

A voice: Tell me your number.

He looks up, eyes dazed and unfocused, a slight squint, glasses of little help.

The train slows down, falling to a stop with a long wheeze. The speckled blue floor is muffled by rushing feet.

© Anuradha Prasad, 2017