poetry

poetry
Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 7 december 2019

Of Land And Ills

The dancing paper,
humilates the pen.
A stunning defeat for morality.
 
In splendid withdrawl,
the eyelids bear the violence
of soil.
 
A broken pride
will get back at you.
Step aside. Let the soul read the dewdrop.
 
The moon meets the
earthen lamp, to understand
the hymns of rag-pickers.
 
The religion drinks
the aroma of holy vice. Was
there any truth of a beast?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 6 december 2019

Voiceless Assaults

You are waiting
amid fears. The fretting
does not end.
 
At where,
the road ends? To find a blue star
where do we go?
 
The house was
sleeping in fog. Inside the
dome, hooves, quiver.
 
I have to become
mute. Time was black,
my song blue.
 
A pure crime.
The vultures come in
cloaks to take away the lamb.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 5 december 2019

Fading Glory

You want to cover your
amnesia. Death
has no other color.
 
How far you will go
to retrieve
the sensibility?
 
Time does not sit idly.
Undeniably your foe―
poisoning the well.
 
Sky was overcast and
sends misty rain.
Have the heart-leaves and moon-seeds.
 
The history concedes.
Molybdenum was god,
initiating life on earth.


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RENATA

RENATA, 4 december 2019

dojrzewanie -a jesienią zbierzesz plony

w sadzie wokół jabłoni 
twój uśmiech mnie gonił
moje oczy cię rozbierały
a ręce brały

a tam przy starej jabłoni
serce mi dałaś na dłoni
a tam przy młodej gruszy
zakochałam się po uszy


na trawie wśród rumianku
liczyliśmy świerszcze o poranku
graly nam kształty Mendelsona
ty przyszły mąż ja przyszła żona



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RENATA

RENATA, 4 december 2019

przeznaczenie

W księdze pamięci
Urodziła się i jest
Istota komuś potrzebna
Uczy się i dojrzewa
Kwitnie i obumiera
Wartość swoją mierzy
Sumą doświadczeń
I tylko pamięć zostaje
Zbieraczem absolutnym
W drodze do przeznaczenia


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 4 december 2019

For The Skin And Eyes

Not confessional.
Without reading the body
there was no room.
 
My fever rises
in limbs.
Giving me a double vision.
 
This was not my age.
Out of place, I
call for limestone.
 
The sea and
moon will make a castle
on the waves.
 
Whom do you call
careless? I was writing
the verse on blood paper.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 1 december 2019

No Carnage

A house without doors
I was living
in fog.
 
The infamous review
will tell about the
fallen words from the roof.
 
There was no history,
no culture of
cannibalism.
 
I only exhaled
the grief of centuries
shielding the ankle's pain.
 
There had been no
perfect picture of the
dancing god in nude.
 
A blue face swims.
I draw the map of the smell
of cinders.


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George Krokos

George Krokos, 30 november 2019

Simple Observation 151 - It is said that lightning .....

It is said that lightning doesn’t ever strike at the same place twice
and a person passes as a fool who makes the same mistake thrice.
_____________________________


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George Krokos

George Krokos, 30 november 2019

Quatrain 157 - The inner beauty of man.....

The inner beauty of man is far superior to that of the outer,
we only need look deep enough within us to see it's greater.
It is basically through ignorance most haven't seen this fact,
but to actually witness this truth requires extraordinary tact.
________________________________


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George Krokos

George Krokos, 30 november 2019

On Meditation

Sit in silence and have a break
from everything when you're awake.
Take some time and be by yourself
then you might even improve health.
If this is done regularly
you'll enjoy life more happily.
 
Close your eyes to then look within
at the darkness that's consuming.
Just observe the thoughts which arise
don't get involved with all their lies.
Seek the light of your Spirit Soul
and it will lead you to the Goal.
_______________________________


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George Krokos

George Krokos, 30 november 2019

Ode to Felicity

O Felicity, You have been good to me
how can I ever hope to repay Thee?
Just when I thought that all was lost
Your presence inside me did so accost.
 
You lifted me gently out of my darkest hours
brightened the day with the colors of flowers;
together with their fragrance while in bloom
was a remedy that dispelled most of the gloom.
 
And those tears that flowed from my eyes
were in gratitude cleansing like the skies;
after the rains fall and the clouds disperse
the sun shines through with a rainbow verse.
 
You are so gracious and very caring
in spite of our insolence in despairing;
that grip of sorrow is loosened in our heart
as Your bliss removes the pain bearing part.
 
Oh, how thankful we should all really be
when we recognize Your uplifting spree;
You are at hand to restore our natural joy
the darkness of ignorance tries to destroy.
__________________


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George Krokos

George Krokos, 30 november 2019

Why The Caged Bird Really Sings

The caged bird sings because
it longs for freedom
to fly and be with its own kind
and to know what life is really about
and be able to share it with a soul mate.
 
That's why the caged bird sings -
a song of hope and for all we know
a mournful yet beautiful sad song
of longing for the life
it was created for and dreams of having
instead of being cooped up in a cage
playing a role that was
never intended by nature
for it to have and live
as a captive show-piece
for a higher evolved form......
 
The ultimate expression of cruelty
to deprive another creature
of its natural born freedom.....
 
That's why the caged bird really sings!
________________________


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 30 november 2019

World Moves On

The ethical dilemma,
and chaste abscenity,
were the game changers.
 
Vowel syncope was making it easier.
 
Let the most vulnerable
lie still. A pseudowar of words
is going to start.
 
A blast of vocabulary,
some smothering of smells,
will make the jaws, drop soundlessly.
 
And many would not
breath easily. It was catastrophe.
 
The language convulses.
In jungle of gatherings
there was no pond.
 
I was still searching, the inflection.
The creative touch.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 29 november 2019

A Nonarrival

Munitions in place
you were ready
to strike.
 
What you wanted to
find out, I had
found in my poems.
 
It was the dark night―
that becomes ink.
I am writing in black letters.
 
What was the
obsessive cult of
fingertips, holding the pen?
 
Sometimes you look
at you, when
you were not you.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 28 november 2019

Once On Earth Day

Returning to the ragpicker
like a lone fly
of love triangle, said― were you
writing a letter to confess your love?
 
Like a glue sniffer, I
am stuck with you.
O brown earth, raw
wounds heal …
 
When I sing a blade
of grass, when I sit
under moon, holding your
hills for comfort.
 
My head nestling on
your heaving breast, while
I sleep without―
a dream.
 
It was devastating to eat
you. Your cauldron, bubbling.
Someone wants to pay
back your sun, your moon.


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RENATA

RENATA, 27 november 2019

ukryte żądze

piasek pustyni 
złoto w skrzyni
biały proszek
szklane wieżowce

bogacz obłędem szalony
niczego nie szanuje
po kawałku kupuje
uda cycki i dupę potem żony

tu nie ma miłości
pośród setek ciał w nagości
zazdrość tu nie gości
piękne ciała zmyją okruch samotności



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RENATA

RENATA, 27 november 2019

nadziany-nadziana

ślicznotko
masz chęć na walizkę
pełną dolców?

szejk zaprasza
na przyjęcie
oni kochają rasowe
konie i kobiety

i nie śmiej powiedzieć nie
i nie śmiej zakochać się
a będziesz mile widziana
nadziana


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katmata

katmata, 27 november 2019

Przepalony styk

Zabawnie, że cierpisz.
To takie proste odwrócić głowę.
Zabawka na końcu sznurka,
Obraz jutrzni.

Wydrapane w brązie imię, modlitwa za psa.
Pajęczyna myśli, wyliczanka.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 27 november 2019

A Bold Step

Yes it would remain
incomplete, my story―
my poem.
 
The henna speaks today
against unadulterated lies,
against the rage of
losing path.
 
No more the wrens
will sing, till the clouds don't send
apologia for not
sending the rains―
 
of blueberries. If I
were you I will turn the
bees into butterflies.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 26 november 2019

Retrievability

Shredding begins.
One by one all the leaves fall, like disrobing.
 
The words hang around, the naked soul.
You have to catch
the essence.
 
Deep in the sea―
lies the earth like pain. It
rises― when you prod―
 
to recover the intensity.
The center and tangent,
both, cry.
 
Perception comes, when
you break the ―
giant silence, searching for a poem.
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 25 november 2019

Fading Faces

Widening the scope
you want to remain
at center stage.
 
Thinking starts, battling
the ghosts. Doubt remains alive.
 
A broken beer bottle, at your throat.
You suffer the fall
of humankind.
 
The acid burns. You wire the
clouds. Tears will not flow.
This is not the end.
 
Turn the page. Why you
need the signs?
 
Those pale, staring eyes, unclosed.
Not sufficient?
Can you read the red line?
 
Was it not an oblique cut,
where the sand was lifted?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 24 november 2019

Uncementing

Gold fringed, the hood
strikes. You are bound
to throne.
 
It was unnatural to
demolish the ancient shrine.
God will not show his face.
 
And what about the dew
collecting on grass leaves,
when you were crying?
 
The kids won't cry now.
The hunger has put
them to sleep.
 
It was the dead end
now. You are melting in
great walls.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 23 november 2019

The Spillover

Not a dog day―
after snapping. In
fatigues, you get a parole
to start sowing sunflowers.
 
A butterfly skips,
the roundabout and lands
on your lips―
 
after spending entire
life from flower-to-flower
from bush-to-bush.
 
I was a witness to history
in making. There was
no togetherness. Will you
believe that?
 
I am a flame now. All
night I will burn,
to read the explosions―
reaching the bottom of fear.
 


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katmata

katmata, 22 november 2019

Sława

Zat młoda na płacz, naiwna wciąż
śni.
Przeklęty dar młodości przeszkadza
biec.
Traci rytm, poczucie smaku nie to.
Z tanim winem rodzi się bunt.
 
Natarczywość, lepka niecierpliwość.
Bratnie dusze w grzechu.
Zapach zepsucia.
Ludzkie ciało trampoliną do sławy.
Czyż nie?
 
Nad kominkiem portret
ciecia,

zielonym banknotem podpala stos.


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katmata

katmata, 21 november 2019

Wróć

Szmaragdowy blask nocy, 
usta krzyczące. Rozpalone ciała. 
Gdzie jesteś? 
Chłopcze z wymyślonego świata.
 
Łódź odpłynęła,
na piasku pozostał ślad stępki i rdza
czerwona, jak krew.
Serce wciąż bije. Umieram.


number of comments: 5 | rating: 0/1 | detail |


Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 november 2019

Balancing Act

Collecting the dirt,
a speechless drama unfolds.
 
Now you can hear the―
wails of buried amnesia.
 
You can touch now the footsteps
where the activist fell.
 
The gift of bleeds coming
from the saddened past;
 
the space was expanding―
to accommodate missed abortions.
 
My limbs giveaway gathering,
the blackberries of moon.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 november 2019

Uninviting Destiny

I would not understand
your fabric, when you come
wearing only smile.
 
The politics of life was beyond
my poetry. I only have the words
as my wealth. No other assets.
 
I wanted more space
between the black holes. My earth
needs a rebirth. I am very lonely.
 
Poison poems. You always
sparred with a family of weighting
heights, which could not touch the sky.
 
A series of serial killers,
were ready to begin the assault
on the tossing daffodils, deaf, dumb and blind.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 november 2019

Empathy With Tattered Cape

Weep every don.
All the translations were fake.
 
The yellow peaks do not burn the
sky, now at sunrise.
 
I am forgetting myself―
in the gathering of my foes.
 
The pilgrim's path is now dirty.
You cannot transcend the―
 
dead remains of ancestry. In
the hutment, that was the end of view.
 
Nightblindness. I cannot fathom
out the saint descending a great depth.
 
From beastkinds I swim back
to save an unborn epic.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 november 2019

Demanding Answers After The Chemical Attacks In Damascus

I was not afraid of the clock, ticking,
dividing your attention. A guarded
withdrawl of the statement, had
brought a comic relief to the distraught
vicitims.
 
Caving on guns, the
mustard cloud could wipe out
the entire generation.
 
The tender bodies
wrapped up in white cloaks,
ready to be sent back
to mother's womb: earth.
 
Why a sun wanted to
pass out gingerly?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 17 november 2019

Unhurting

Unshackled, the pallor moon
was lying still, in a white-
shroud of clouds, only face
visible, staring-
down languidly.
 
I have come afar,
from the whispering dark,
to annul my existence.
 
Your hands tremble,
carrying your name. The
magic of unsaid-
poems, working.
 
Life had been a Medusa.
The blues, the reds, the
greens, overbearing.
 
Scores will be settled
when moon,
goes down.


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