It Happens Poem by KATOCH P C K PREM

It Happens
That you agreed
to meet on the river bank,
on a night moonless
lonely and cool, silent and musical,
it was bread in empty stomach.

Those dead sounds of songs
sang of joys in jaws of crocodiles
and collected blood,
in the wasted tin bowl
to donate it to a blood bank.

Only that you had turned up
without a design,
and rigid notions
to rewrite a life of loss.

Or judgments of aliens mouths
only you wrote alone, in dim gully
with not even a sound.

Lips just sketching without echo
in frames of theories untested.

In a mood defying explanation
like a piece of painting,
full of colours and lines
giving dreams a slip, is cheating.

Only that you had done it
with no conditions added.

It had been a grand event
an epic at another time,
intertwined with folklores
in peoples clean minds.

A silent meeting in a night echoless
lips watery and eyes just filled
with immense words
without voice of identity puzzle.

This had been a deft move
to bring concord in troubled hearts
only we could have achieved.

None had talked
in a routine language
alas it was difficult.

Living in a chaotic world
where words matter,
it is no history.

And humans are just things
Over used in total vacuity.

To find meaning yet
you had never agreed,
and so allowed a continuity
in futility.

This life remains
and the night alone stays silent
waiting for the witches to dance
when music of hearts grows old.

(Of This Age And Obscurity And Other Poems 2011)