Sermon Poem by KATOCH P C K PREM

SERMON


I have read long
Fragments in figures separate,
Fissures appearing each time
Heralding birth of a new Guru.

A new religion.

It is my despair that speaks
To refugees,
Running amuck in search
Of a home,
In their own homeland
Made violent. And each
Breathing injects a
Scorpion.

It spreads a net to catch
a man without pieces.
But such a finish good is not found
In a super bazaar where
Jeans are stitched on payment
for any size.

It is a measured beauty on a canvas,
Where a grain of rice
Peeps out and laughs
To tell a tale alive,
Without an epilogue.

Here one piece collects
Gathers dust on a canvas





Drenched in colours of
Separation to join a total Guru,
Who sparkles on jewels.

(from Among the Shadows,1989)