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RENATA

RENATA, 19 september 2021

uzależnienie

poszłabym za Tobą i szłam szłam obok
aż zniknąłeś rozmyłeś się wypiłeś mnie
i odszedłeś zostało puste miejsce

obok Ciebie i Twojej dłoni świat ma kolory
niezapomniane a ja śpiewam i śpiewam
nadzwyczajnie głośno i głęboko

świat traci smak kolory i treść
nie chcę jeść chcę spać
gdzieś w zgniłych liściach

bo jestem dla Ciebie
bo nie ma mnie
gdy nie chcesz

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RENATA

RENATA, 19 september 2021

Zamordowana królowa

ona tak kiedyś silna piękna gibka
rozwijająca talent wędkarski
wśród sępów hien i wilków zostaje
zdemaskowana niemal zjedzona
przez rekiny i piranie choć nieustannie
nadzieję ma

ona prawie postradała rozum i urodę
spadając z tronu wyimaginowanego
roztrzaskała się o rogi małżonka
łamiąc kark wszak król życzył sobie
poślubić Konstancję

Ona niekoronowana choć pierwsza
żona zostawiła potomnym bękarta
sprawiedliwość jest w ręce króla
krzyknął Ludwik wśród nienawiści
zgiń i zniknij

ona już takie przeznaczenie miała
dla kilku chwil zapomnienia i sztuk
uwodzenia męki pańskie w lochu więziennym
a tak rozpaczliwie chce żyć

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 september 2021

Not My Angst

Tribal instinct spares none.
You change the script,
and come out to see the murmuration
of a flock of starlings.

The precision, the blend
make you wonder about the harmony
of small birds in unison,
an army moves as one body.

O man, your mathematics
has gone absurd. The sects and
cults. The zealot, the devout.
Brother, I will say unleafing must start.

More poems?
That does not work.
All the daffodils go blind.
Thousands of years go―
in making a vision.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 september 2021

The Eagle Swoops

Why ending your life,
on death bar,
close to terror―

of life? This is how
your dreams come true―
to play with inevitable ?

You had nothing to bleed.
One million times you
kiss on the lips of wounds.

We're all insane, chasing
the muse in dark. Earth
weeps in turn.

The walls are coming
up. What does the time tell
about the age of many tombs?

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 16 september 2021

Entering Sanctum Sanctorum

A sacred lotus emerges
from the navel, while you rest
on trembling waves. I am shedding
my leaves.

The knotty hole. Center
of the earth. A shell
breaks inaudibly in the churning pot.

The pledged promise was
deep. Pole's red aurorae stream
in new birth.

Was it necessary to take
an oath under the bo tree―
to become a sacred Buddha?

It sucks. Fake or genuine?
I am searching the faces of whites,
browns and blacks. Who
wants to be buried in a nameless
grave of a soldier?

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 14 september 2021

In Upheaval...

This was the rise of animal
after dividing
the pain of man.

The shared past―
would guide the misreading,
calling bloodbath a mistake.

Balancing the pole, walking
on long rope, in sheer
darkness of moonless night.

The words fall on your
feet, begging the exoneration
from name-calling.

Square meals and two lipped
lavenders, will bring the aroma
to wipe out nonexistence.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 13 september 2021

Without Fetters

He was not at guilt,
it was the neuro―
hormones, hired from moon.

You were burning
inside, smokeless
without flames.

I throw the net―
in lake to catch,
the moon for once.

The day was ready
to close the eyes―
to practice philanthropy.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 12 september 2021

Repeating Again

Not a single word was
written today, watching
the masks being perfected.

A nosedive, of what
I built without mercury,
without threads.

Sitting on a black
stone, wishing moon a
mist bath of absolute.

It again aches, my
roving heart, trying to
knit the harmony in black and white.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 11 september 2021

Behind The Glass

I will write a very
soft poem for you today.
Moon had promised
to standby.

You cannot stay outside
your lips. They were frozen.
I will trap a ray of light
when you fall in a pit.

Such aplomb. I must
give you a gift of an Ariel.
Come equinox, I will wait
for the harvest moon.

The pure hymns. I
turn my gold ring for a miracle.
The scars were singing again.
Out of reach, a star winks.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 10 september 2021

Not Ready To Forget

Very scary, I admit―
your vintage―
lovemaking with
a ghost.

Life in a crate was
creating nonpoems.
Water on the ice moon
was never there.

Unmasked you shoot a
songbird in flight.
The soft music went into
the barrel of the gun.

Come and meet my other
self. My penchant for talking
to flowers has made
me a martyr.

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