Kiran Prasad

Kiran Prasad Poems

Far away are we settled
Few winds come together
To lift our sordid land

The thought arises
A wonder if you are doing well
The tug, deep rooted
Refuses to quell

Years are a nought
A minute a second short
When friends finally meet
A century unfolds


We stand across, face each other
Its been some time since we
Looked at each other

The finger seems a little relieved
the pudgy finger can now breathe at ease
it was bound by an unending ring
decayed was the skin beneath.

I have seen you somewhere before
It is a little difficult to believe

It is a cheesy line to say

There is a lot to say
A lot of excuses to make
Every lie in my brain
a reasonable truth derives


Pain is a frequent flyer
so oft it does travel.
when you thought you
had seen the last of him

The fields rush past
A swoosh of green
A patch of blue
A colorless milieu


My heart sinks to the thoughts
That so obsess my mind
I may be right
Then why can’t I forgive


Don’t believe everything you hear
Or assume what you see is real
There is fear in the harshest words
And love entwined in words of deride.

Dreams and love
Are sisters two
Dreams, a sleepy lie they weave.
And love, a constant lie it seeks.


Today i looked death in its face,
Much sedate.
We spoke of yearnings true
Of passion, dancing to unsung tunes

Facebook prompts me to share
My status to update
On these pages to bare
My thoughts and disdains

Maybe we fight
Spit fire
And with words
Pounce on each other


The stillness of
The paused rail
As humans to ants


She stops
Looks back
Her eyes sparkle with mischief
Happiness holds her words afloat


I walk on never to look back
Every future is a step from the past

I dream on. that tomorrow I will stand,

On that final adieu
The softest bed when I find
Will you curse my stupidities?
Or glance at me with misery?

Kiran Prasad Biography

Reluctant writer, sometimes hit by flash of desire to write.)

The Best Poem Of Kiran Prasad

Will It Survive?

Far away are we settled
Few winds come together
To lift our sordid land

Dreariness, dampness
Are truths carved
On our 100 wooden faces

We are dried, dehydrated
Souls – Of what is left
A mere percent alive

Will it survive?

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