The Pact
My legs swing, warm sun tickling bare feet On an egret-sprinkled green palm of earth, a purple heron soars settling on a buffalo its buoyancy turning tears into kanmashi streets and me at five, on your shoulders, secretly happy
Water gurgles in unscrubbed manchattis sooty pots bob in fenced-in waters Saris pulled up, tucked tightly at the waist, mothers scrub squealing bodies their laughter settling into ruts yet un-eroded a melody to hold their hearts together as they grow and fly towards the city
Edi kaapi aayo? (Is the morning meal ready?) Innu joli ondo? (Will there be work today?) Women ensure routine in the lives around their voices reach out across the thodu, dogs on either side bark away at such blatant disregard for territory
We cross the sun-browned vellekka collectors, the palm frond cart pullers with smiling passengers brown bodies in frayed shorts driving imaginary cars and girls my age resting their brooms awhile to stare at us
You run nimbly over the single, long coconut trunk bridge a foot at a time, the silver on fish fins glitter and I hang on my pavada bloats into a red, green balloon and wet shirt sleeves flap at us from coir strings
A mollusc-scented memory envelopes me Your bare foot prints emerge shaking off the sand We were going home that day "You will never forget" The paddy whispered "I won't" It was a pact
(Notes):
Coir - stiff fiber from the outer husk of a coconut
Kanmashi - eyeliner
Thodu - stream
Pavada - long skirt
Manchatti - flat, earthen clay pot
Vellekka - immature nuts of coconuts
Reaching up
There will be a different bird in the sky today
parting thirsty clouds on its way
to reach a shore
where the rain keeps playing
the earth's song
its lyrics written with petrichor
In that familiar place which heart calls home,
there are aging, broken wings waiting outstretched
to gather the wandering kestrel to their core,
tender beaks waiting to rub and be rubbed
and praying eyes moister than rain petals
to help the traveller resist
the perilous tug of the ocean floor
Like a happy child who owns the earth and sky
by trying to jump and catch it with wondering eyes
I wonder if I too can fly
Can I slit the too-taut skin, shake loose my crumpled wings
and from my small bit of earth, take to the sky?
for I want to soar on a silver ride
to gaze my fill at a bird that will fly
above my pumpkin patch tonight
Let Me Be
Let me be
a dry tree
clothed in the driest brown of leaves
when I leave
firewood for several flames to leap
my essence a scented breeze
taking nothing of earth with me
so that new life can sprout
unburdened
by tall tales
of me
Reena Prasad is a poet from India, currently living in Sharjah (United Arab Emirates). Her poems have been published in several anthologies and journals e.g. The Copperfield Review, First Literary Review-East, Angle Journal, Poetry Quarterly, York Literary Review, Lakeview International Journal, Duane's PoeTree, Mad Swirl etc. She is also the Destiny Poets UK's, Poet of the year for 2014 and one of the editors of The Significant Anthology released in July 2015. More recently, she was adjudged second in the World Union Of Poet's poetry competition, 2016