A Short Journey Poem by KATOCH P C K PREM

A SHORT JOURNEY
Not long ago it was a modest yarn
of a village unvisited,
lofty intellects in crates prayed here
under opaque shadows,
of leafless trees
and sang songs of nature and beauty.
Near flowing streams of nectar
outwardly still,
tiny chirpings filled the air
with sensuous notes,
and voiceless flowing water
purred tunes of a celestial nymph,
soothing disturbed hearts.
Smoke rising in the thick dusky groves
made hued spirals
to salute the blistering sun.
It was an experience of fake luster and wish
plenty of poignant tunes
among the sizzling forest,
nebulous last choir as if to evade
the jumping goats.

There were enough thrills,
as fairies played hide and seek
and pastime with trinkets excited
bewitching and musical to the eyes
as anopheles sat,
in lucent murkiness of words crawling,
while the ungodly shadows fell
and lingered on to make man lethally sick.
It was an untamed nightmare of orgies,
a continuous tendering
in nippy heat,
that was long ago a story of a village,
lost in the crowd of people wanting to live
in style and allure of rural deity.
After years with tentative frail ladder
it was failure of autonomy
in icy system,
where not a single note of musical air was heard.
Magic is gone and the idiom is rotten,
like an invalid old man,
counting moments as sun descends in the west
and journey of years suffers anorexia,
while cornea is smeared and burnt
and the sun appears sadly huddled up in corks
for coal filled buckets observe it.
As children near a dry pool are panicky
to lift grimy sand on heads,
the building in the making collapses,
for, here a man suffers
and howls without rest.

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