Living In Odd Times Poem by KATOCH P C K PREM

you live in strange times as alliances burden and choke
for the reason that shrill din and toxic waste chase
and engulf and you cannot escape,
you tell and laugh.

and look at the old man.

you are as strong as you were long back but look a fragile glass
a mirror reflecting history of testing times,
as colonial hangover still carried weight
among the truncated elite,
who often boasted of culture and sophistication,
as poets and cerebrals weep over the fallen quality,
of what they do not know
and yet howl without tears.

you tell as if search for credentials of elites are in doubts
you know history drives man to shadows
and those who write on pages,
are doctored to pen down eulogies of sinners and savages
for integrity does not write well.

it conducts and speaks well and those who do fine
are forgotten blank sheets of texts erased,
and challenge archaeologists and anthropologist to dig
and go back to find where the roots of truth are,
you stand bewildered, appalled.

look at the stained moon through the pores
of cracks in the walls of house you live and breathe,
it was a mirage as comprehension inflicted injuries
on questions you nurse for long,

and you laugh and pat on the back shriek and squeeze
intellect and terrified heart, and remembered the bullet
that killed a history of nearly fifty years.

Do not think of history, it dupes and confuses.

it tells of half-truths and lies
and tells that man was bankrupt and crucified
for living a life of singing of glories of the corrupt
and tall dwarfs.
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