Oracles Poem by KATOCH P C K PREM

ORACLES

in a day of pure inactivity
there are few of us with unsteady feet
who run amuck amid champagne burn
with reasons and emotions.

These communicate like dragons
relishing, arson, loot and rape
it is a bizarre truth
fathered by furies
that such men talk reasons
un- wanting these form
a collective conscience
of satans in command
of a Kingdom
where gods in frames pay
unrequited obeisance
and angels in tears burn incense
to appease and wish for a return
impossible.

All stand in stillness
undisturbed repose awaiting a dirge
making known death
in the Capital.

In Delhi it is neither
cooing of ducks
nor chirping of sparrows
it is not whistling of wind
no rustling among weeping willows
no crow or rook caws
but everyone hears and fears
clanking of bronze vessels
with flowing blood
vomiting oracles
difficult to decipher
a total chaos in meaning of Logos
it is a still time.

A state of inactivity is a stage
of madness
mind rebels
physique remains unquiet and waits
for release in unholy alliance
a mental escape without direction
and an approach
to joy awaiting an early finish.

Marked man looks out charmed
spells and magic in abundance
rummaging uncharted areas
of worldly joys
more physical.

It is an activity of boring summer
when men watch
growth of weeds on untidy lawns
where roses grow in stunted shades
and dirty linen
dried in hot sun
eyes detect
impurities evaporating
and mixing up in mid air
without pouring out smell.

Man in white clothes
feels, finds reasons
and spits out squirms
and worships Lord Shiva's linga
it is a spook like appearance
in the form of a man.

Here I stand among debris of oracles
which remain myths in crude living
after apparent sophistication
in spacious beds and in arms
delicate and dandyish
it is an acute embarrassment
of a man
when it converts a persona sin
into a general malady
to say that in a day of pure inaction
there are few of us
running amuck in non-existence.

And secretly run to panorama
of rapes and loots
and teach ethics
a propensity quelled.

That is a reason wide and deep
man in me makes personal fall
a collective debauchery.

Uncalled for notions
defend a man
amending a man in me
in conference
remains active without moving
to live like
where none exists
man considered ailing in a crowd
when a wrinkled body in white hair
moves t make a tidy lawn
to spend an age in sun bath
where roses fade
on initial sprouting
like a child throbbing
an unwed woman
to avoid a social noise
walking in dirty streets
where open windows
and half open windows
and half shut doors
make a story without plot
it is a dilemma of my man
without name and identity.

It is soulless
a talking machine visibly
and praying for a human life
but exhibits no mercy.

An acute pain in inactivity
in the aftermath
of joys and orgies.

It is living in shows
in painterly thoughts and wordy dreams
each hiding while running crazy
with others and getting dissolved
in order to learn to die and live
in a crowd of men gone mad
in hours of malaise
without cure in purple days.
(Oracles of the Last Decade 1998)