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SERMON

 


SERMON

 

-       P C K Prem (India)

 

I have read long

Fragments in figures separate,

Fissures appearing each time

Heralding birth of a new Guru.

A new religion.

 

It is my despair that speaks

To refugees,

Running amuck in search

Of a home,

In their own homeland

Made violent. And each

Breathing injects a

Scorpion.

 

It spreads a net to catch

a man without pieces.

But such a finish good is not found

In a super bazaar where

Jeans are stitched on payment

for any size.

 

It is a measured beauty on a canvas,

Where a grain of rice

Peeps out and laughs

To tell a tale alive,

Without an epilogue.

 

Here one piece collects

Gathers dust on a canvas

Drenched in colours of

Separation to join a total Guru,

Who sparkles on jewels.