Mother Poem by KATOCH P C K PREM

MOTHER

When I was born, you were silent
crying with pain giving pleasure,
gripping slowly and lisping patiently
the incidence of time,
the propitious hymn of a new comer,
for pain was the harbinger
of an area of despair
and future insolence.

There was no God to create,
the heaven and the earth
for me it was a firmament without shape,
and so He did not bless me
and again I thought,
I was not born in the image of God.

II
It was all a birth of considered proportion
of measured out moments,
for birth is a small change
in the life of an eternity,
where everything goes and finds
everywhere that sad symptom
of a long treaded life through ages.

III
Not everybody contrite may be
happy should be,
it is a question of time not of feeling
for this is a birth,
when I was born, you were silent.

IV
You suffered anguish
did not exhibit,
for a mother often does not
she is a born incarnation,
of life divine,
ages have fathomed it
created so many chasms
then bridged them up.

Your image they revered
worshipped in temples ancient
in books,
but I consider you a living flesh
giving pleasure and pain.

When I was born,
it was just a prelude
to a long awaited, intentionally delayed,
sufferings of human beings
brought back on the sterilized,
impotent rock of life
and thus,
a commandment was buried alive.

V
And so, I was born
when age was fighting on all sides,
wars were rampant,
man eating man with no scruples
you were witnessing all events,
sighing grievously at the age
how monstrous it was.

And I was earnestly waiting
to welcome,
the coming age at a time,
when age was denuded,
stripping its virginity
bombing ethics.

There was everything
you remembered the whole thing,
you were the mother of a coming age,
and a woman
of an age ripped of its sanctity.

And I know Prajapati existed alone
you knew how he produced progeny,
practicing asceticism, He exhausted full
and from His mouth came out
Agni, a food eater,
as His open mouth terrified Prajapati,
when it shall not devour you.

There you stood to become a mother
of future
and I gasped for my breath,
when you were tasting the fruit of time,
the youth of time and its bitter fruit,
its agonized charisma.

VI
There I considered you a bit of flesh
responding to passionate caresses with eyes closed
sitting in the womb of reality.

I was your son, an approaching son
of posterity ill defined
who thought and thought of selfishness,
of utter brutal beatings of hearts deluded,
given liberally to fleshly embrace,
so I do not harp on eternal purity,
of hearts when an age past was so burdened
with sins and mothers of tomorrow sighing,
to discern the grave deep darkness
when dawn seemed millennium ahead,
and so brought the moment
I was born you were silent.

VII
My brothers will not give me land
but usurp my wife,
and out of wailings of Garden,
would emerge a robot and Ravana
and so Rama will be exiled
and Jatayu will disclose a truth,
that she went with consent
and so many mothers pitied and laughed
and I will not build cities like Jacob.

God shall not come and tell
‘Jacob, Arise, go up to Bethel
I shall not set up a temple
A pillar, even a pillar of stone! '

See my mother of flesh and bones,
I tell all, you give pleasure.

And with the passionate moments
I move ahead to the seashore
praying to Shiva to grant me strength
to kill Rama, for I am Rama and Jesus
Noah does not exist now,
to make an ark of gropher wood
now I shall pour a drink and an offering
and say always ‘Svaha'
whenever you told me about Brahma,
I felt an androgynous living.

VIII
There is nothing wrong with this age
age past was ennobling
it is all what time makes
a merciless enemy and a kind friend
that age was fine, past was glorious.

This is an old saying, an old habit
to blame present and eulogize past
today is corrupt and yester was fine
All living says.

‘Happy the gentle
they shall have the earth for their heritage'
and as usual you remind me
of the Sermon on the Mount.
and I fall sick and my eyes close
like the monkey of a dead Gandhi.

IX
When today will become yester
they will again say today is corrupt,
it is a worn out repetition,
with no adjustment and re-decoration.

It is simple
today is yester, yester is today,
with additions of an age.

Time again is a corruption singled out
to dig out a future, always glorious
so spell bound, so dazzling
but perennially a mirage without reflection.

For glory of future will shape itself
into the monotonous dirt of today,
with an added insolence.

It is inevitable in creation
the idea of the One who creates a Second
this is my Heaven and earth in an act
creative and dangerous it is
So is killed Manu and the Primeval Man.

X
Tomorrow will become today
and age shall weep
not knowing its limitation in vastness,
of reality, who knows
yester, today and morrow are tiny streams,
of eternity flowing constantly,
reviving death and birth, birth and death
for these are nothing
and yours is a predicament,
to accept this unfounded reality.

When I was born, I was simply born
to correct your ideology,
reshaping it into a modern structure,
I am modern
I am today.

Your existence is but a fleshly appearance
now wrinkled, not blooming,
wasted and used with no attraction
and I want attraction
budding and flashing youth.

A cruel brute and a beast I am
today is everything, you are silent
you will remain crying but silent
this is your harvest.

And you cannot give me like Rudra
a thousand eyes and feet
to become a cosmic man.

XI
No resipiscence, for I am wise now
no domination from any side,
modern I am and no regimentation
humanity was fighting blasting age long edifice
when I was born.

I knew the Seeds of the great Father
that the god satisfied lust,
so the blameless Angirases was born
out of the blazing coal, Brihaspati took birth
and this process continues, O my mother
So I do not hate incest.

Today is fighting with this thought
troubling the cosmos when I am living,
Blazing painfully
I WILL LIVE MORROW.

You go waste, your time gone
A tiny particle of dust and I worship not dust
I am modern of no pretence.

(from Collage of Life,2016)
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