R S Prasanna

Spam that tries to be literature.

Monday, April 13, 2009


The flowers of the city
Though breathlike, get deathlike at times.

The smiles on the lips
Of the children will dip
Into furrows buried in time

We move on with hope
We live on with death
In between every breath
That we take

Look on in wonder
At the birth of a thunder
That lightning brings in its wake

Yet today I see
That a friend from my past
Has gone off the earth with a blast

I hope that the tales
Of the stars that won't fade
Was not just a fantasy rhyme

I know my pal
Will never be back
Nor shall we pause in our ways
We're so used to this
That we don't even kiss
Our goodnight kisses away

We wake every morning
We eat every meal
We smile and sing and we dance
And cry when we lose
One more from our clan
To this wretched curse upon man

Everything changes
Everything moves
Everything go on as before
I'll not be around here anymore
And it won't mean a bit to the world

So deadly our living
So silent our screams
So light must we seem to this world
Atoms that dance
Holding other atom hands
In the vain little hope that is Life

Death is the ending
Death is real
An end must annoint every song
A meaning that only an ending can bring
For a song that has gone on too long

May I now place
Oh mighty Above
The full stop after this line?
May I take away the life of the song
Just like you took away mine?

I see that you made me
End with a question
A deliberate hint did you leave
Have you been saying something all along
A signal we never receive?

In memory of Bhargav, my dear friend.

With acknowledgements to the genius of Bob Dylan. The first two lines and two lines else where, are a homage to his song - nay, a straight lift from his song, 'To Ramona'

RIP, dear friend

"The flowers of the city
Though breathlike, get deathlike at times.
And there's no use in tryin'
T' deal with the dyin',
Though I cannot explain that in lines."
- Bob Dylan.

RIP, dear friend.

Friday, April 10, 2009


I'm a wordless poet of lore
You've never heard of before

I am a pitiable wannabe
Ready to steal
But not skilled even at that

You see when I hear him
Display his skill
Of words that play at his whim,
I only watch on, wordless again,
As tears rise and fill to the brim

Heart ache of love
No match for this now
The love of a wordless poet

The poet of lore
You've never heard of before
Shall try again tonight to write
Sit down and give his all to the fight
He's been raging every painful night

So don't mind the wail
If you hear through your veil
Of a wordless poet of lore
You've heard him of course
Every single night before.

Only you thought it was the streetside beggar
Going to bed without food

But now you know
'tis something even worse

A poet in bed
Without words.

Tuesday, April 07, 2009

The Lover

"As soon as I met her," said the lover, "I did not care anymore if I agreed or disagreed with others." The lover spoke at length thereafter, about his love for her. But that's the line which stuck with me.