Tales Poem by KATOCH P C K PREM

Tales

He often tells stories and I listen
and look at the sun and wish
I were a sun in the darkness of life
that visits everyone
and he is very crude I imagine
even as the answer to the quiz
evades correct definition.

I often listen to the breeze
and he advises me to suck up whispers
the air pours in noisy crowds
that shriek
and roar and teach lessons
of history of violence and love,
love ending in failure.

I recall names and places when I wander
in locations unspecified
for to find an identity
in times of crises is a proposition
that hints at lethal failure of man
in victory when humankind
in man suffocates for safety of thoughts
and feelings not deciphered
as love lost in the beloved eyes
turns sordid in an age
where man does not know where he lives.

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