For A Long Time Poem by KATOCH P C K PREM

For a Long Time

I keep listening to tales of past
I do not know why I do it.

The storytellers are known and intimate,
and they love to intrude into privacy
of emotions and thoughts I hide somewhere
I also try to probe.

For a long time it happens, just a usual bustle,
as they tell me to fly high,
away to the lands
beyond the reach of thoughts
to the unknown caves of heart
you are unaware
like the fabled Garuda on an errand
to bring nectar.

I hear tales of many known heroes, who are dead
they often tell to get up,
budge and spurn stupor
of breakdown and rout but I know
I am already in a row.

Strange counsel you get and sit
in the bareness of mind
and wait for the clarity,
to make a request to the destiny to put you
in the sun naked and unguarded,
and it looks bizarre
but it grants you a chance
to look within, withdraw and deliberate on life
and offer counsel like the mighty Ravana
waiting for death,
in times of crisis unabated through ages.

I feel the nudity of emotions and thoughts
peel off, squirm and lay back
to ruminate on incidents
I chase unconsciously so that
I construct shadows,
of mirror that often scares with the silence
of a ghost and speaks of the real man.

It watches a man, who is grand and tall,
guides the world and touches
the apex of glory
as crowds chase and applaud largeness
that exists not in me
but I argue plainly,
and without a word
I sit aghast, icy and crushed
and realize I lived a false life.

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