poetry

poetry
Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 9 january 2020

Without Destination

You come to me like
a fall.
All the colors have arrived.
 
The being, an entity―
multiplies. For now,
in past, in future.
 
A will not move away very far
from the dots.
A tangent will lead you to me.


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


Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 8 january 2020

Fractured

Blunt and bold were
the wet spots.
You bleed like me.
 
The seizure takes hold
of millions thoughts.
My sins are walking with me.
 
No annihilation of
the flesh. I was meeting
the spirits.
 
The face becomes pure
gold, when you
start burning the issues.
 
The years had survived
in slumber.
Death will not come to the hanged man.


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


RENATA

RENATA, 7 january 2020

związki nie całkiem bezpieczne

***
związało  ich życie strumieniem piwa
           fontanną wręcz
raz jedno raz drugie się kiwa
wśród krzyków ' do matki precz

                        ***
chciała być jak opoka
co trzyma bramy świątyni
została trofeum 
w chlewie u świni

                   ***

jesteśmy sobie przeznaczeni
mówili wszem i wobec
połączyły ich dzieci 
podzieliły pieniądze

                     ***
jaki on dobry mamusiu 
nawet obiady gotuje 
na pięćset puls uczciwie zarobił
i już pracą się nie przejmuje
                    ***

latały łabędzie parami
swoim niebem górami lasami
ten trzeci wbił się na chama
oj moja będzie ta dama

 zdradzona istota
 łzy pod poduszkę chowa
 w egzekucji trzeciemu odda
 karmy wodospad 
                 ***


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


Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 6 january 2020

Night Spots

Tonight the moon will sit
on the gazobe,
to have a look at the sea, rising.
 
*
 
On the night's shade
dewdrops will wait, till
morning glory blooms.
 
*
 
It was a long night.
My lamp starts to flicker.
I hurry up to finish my poem.


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


Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 5 january 2020

Unthreading

It was a damp kiss
of an image.
Dispassionately you drop
an old coin into my hands.
 
Faithless in your poem.
I adored the Venus in twilight.
Carnation. A rose pink color,
appears in your eyes.
 
Rising from the marshy
slush, greater flamingos
keep watch underneath, at the
army of urns.
 
The sameness now dithers.
You want to weave the moon
in your breast, unpreparing
to open the heart.


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


Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 4 january 2020

Many Shades

The brown rice were
not yet ready.
An old man turns in grave.
 
*
 
The thingness
was shapeless in dark
Like a sleeping Buddha.
 
*
 
Once I told a lie.
The snow started melting
releasing methane.


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


Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 3 january 2020

Crumbling Down

Can you understand
the agony of a titan, which
cannot afford to show its fall?
 
Missing the defeat―
no one was victorious.
Battle cry was a phantom.
 
The questions, that were
fluttering in a storm―
had become the sufi fakirs.
 
It was a dirty stricture.
The colors had stopped flowing.
Even the death has lost its terror.


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


Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 2 january 2020

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.


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


Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 1 january 2020

Too Crowded Was Arena

I felt you, through your
words. Tight and
crisp. But you remained untouchable.
 
For thousand of years
a lity of valley
cried, to get a dove's cooing voice.
 
The musk deer will not
leave its domain. Some
poems were hungery of its hideout.
 
An ordinary day of fall
starts the inferno. Syllable
by syllable in colors.
 
The dilemma of drinking
the hemlock at one go.
How would I describe the ascending paralysis?


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


Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 31 december 2019

Wounded And Alive

In search of wholeness,
the words sit around me
cutting the edge of the corn ear.
 
A new shibboleth, will
announce the arrival of
a bloody tribe.
 
In this life cycle, I
will meet you, to kidnap
a Pir for remaining silent.
 
Who was on the road
to give a sane advice
to the waning roses?
 
It was not poemtime.
The kids were bleeding
from the barbs of unknown.


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



  10 - 30 - 100  

Terms of use | Privacy policy | Contact

Copyright © 2010 truml.com, by using this service you accept terms of use.


contact with us






Report this item

You have to be logged in to use this feature. please register