Living In Peccadilloes And Domes Poem by KATOCH P C K PREM

Living in Peccadilloes

Here you exist
in small peccadillo
disbursed through eyes
blind to scene
and reason.

Your servants are paynims
and you remain slaves forever,
sit snugly in musings and furies
between failure and defeat.

Here you make straight patterns
carve out fading memories
of living in distress
when heart beatings
call for undue stress.

Living in Domes

You construct life
and behaviour
straight, open and parallel
and at right angles,
without a dome.

It is gothic,
not laboured.

From one point
to a second dot,
it is joint of a straight line,
it is a city dead
with buildings in blocks
picked up and planned.

A soul of an architect
Breathes, and sights here,
as nostalgic patterns
and killing shapes
touch skies and stars.

Human beings live,
you doubt.

(Collage of Life 2016)