Thursday, December 20, 2007

Return to Sender


Meekly, let the doors close behind us.

Let the forlorn templates with caving margins suck us into their vortex.
Let crimson dissolve in the deeper finger-reaches
And let Bolton sing,
“Can I touch you there”.

Let the earth’s clitoris erupt a shattering thunderstorm and let all the birds fly away to Ithaca.

As silence settles, let me say my last prayers.

You, my friend, can watch from behind your misty glasses.

6 comments:

Shoonyata said...

Good stuff...excellent photos and verse...way to go !!!!

Three sheets to the wind said...

Pramz...outstanding, good start for your blog.

What I cant get over is your biceps :-)

Nanu.

siju k said...

fantastic! love the photo too. The macho man with a poetic heart :-))

krishnaraj said...

images which have depth beyond the shadows..

slim words..broad meanings..

these creative expressions touch the depth of our souls..

ps, can you pls load an image of your mind too? waiting...

luv
kr

k said...

misty glasses. macha. who's the voyeur, breathing hard?
it's hard to admit, it's great to read... like reading it backwards, you read a line, then you read it again.
i wish i cold find some suckers to read my copy over and over ;) especially love the notes on the right side...

CK said...

Dear Pramod,
Hi Pramod Saare !

I don't want to add to what I said over phone but u r a REAL LIFE HERO !

Very evocative piece ! However, I want the whacky side of Pramod to come out in these columns ! Ithare serious vendaa Saare !

cheers
CK