The Bermuda Triangles Poem by KATOCH P C K PREM

THE BERMUDA TRIANGLES

This glow and warmth remains an enigma
and relations continue to make structures,
along the roadside where black drums explode
and bitumen spills over life,
mixes with blood and a cry is born
this man gets up and gives humanity a history,
in perspectives of bullets
that are lost in the elephant grass.

Man does not weep,
he laughs and his tears shine
without flow.

Each time he gets killed
and history gives him a child,
it is a story of multiple wombs,
a man creates for his own greatness
and finally dies.

It is an awful living,
this man has ten heads and six heads
alternately he fluctuates and threatens,
living and non living.

He is a Ravana and a Skanda
you don't have to believe in relations,
having adulterous encounters with Pleiades
and so a modern man has mixed up myths,
ancient roots when Agni carries ambrosia
and becomes Garuda and so a confused living,
so many legends are created
where a man remains rootless and sad.

Nobody understands this gnosis
debates continue to haunt synod
all golliwog and fossilized,
cool, dead and no syce to escort
no interpreter on earth
and its geography remains embedded
in the layers of history.

That man made, lost and forgot
an repetition without results,
it unleashes an understanding
then invalidates it.

Now values are becoming rocks and stones
emotions crushed in between
man weeps without tears,
it is a commentary and unending
no paleontology will ever decipher age
years will roll on,
and man shall fail and yet
claim knowledge and wisdom.

It is like legendary spiders
weaving always a web
it is crystalline and silken
it becomes hard and strong
to lasso its delicate feelings s
o to become a government,
with a trap door giving
birth to a tarantula
spiders and politicians,
a lovely comedy.

A death trap and
it is mystery with no survivors
and man himself makes
many Bermuda Triangles
and in aberrations loses
and forgets his identity.

(THE BERMUDA TRIANGLES 1996)