R S Prasanna

Spam that tries to be literature.

Thursday, September 03, 2009


On my wind swept face
eyebrow matted with frozen rain
My breath white against the whiter mist
My lips cracked and numb
My eyes still retain their life

They see the light atop the hill
Small as a dot against the black
They mirror the life filled pupil
Black as a dot against the white

I walk. Toward our home
You will be there.


Blogger Praveen said...

good one :)

11:34 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

hmmm... nice :-)

2:27 AM  

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