Defeat Poem by KATOCH P C K PREM

Defeat
The sun rises on a sad note
driven to perilous edge
parking a red ball quietly
on a broken window panes,
gleaming a little intriguingly
with a probing eyes fitfully.

The sun engulfs slowly without a sound
and sprinkled yellow vast sheets
in tiny cotton flakes
and multi-coloured rays shall lift,
iniquity and sardonic antagonism
spreading along the road
on a long wooden chariot
carrying heavy baggage of grains,
many roasted peanuts to drop
and distribute on empty frail palms
with constricted stomachs fitted into bodies
that countenance extinction.

Virtually in a few hours shall arise
a grim, yawning and dismal morning,
opening an early edition of a newspaper
that tries to invent sleazy tales.

Eventually the sun would get up
cataleptic and hypnotized it would look,
on the threshold of eastern ridges
reading foggy words of headlines
waiting for peace and foliage olive,
in precise black lines
of numerous similes and metaphors
searching you, him and me.

Ignoring and obliterating dusty winds
thus turning roads into skeletons forever,
and there would emerge droning stories
of modern epics unrelated
still to take shape without an epitaph.

(Rainbows at Sixty 2008)