RENATA, 14 march 2021
rozpaczliwie pragnąc miłości
tulę poduszkę aż do braku
krwi stapiającej się w wosk
pod spodem wczorajszego dnia
JA i TY niedomówienia niepewność
naszprycowanych miodem kłamstw
JA i TY taka porcelanowa kruchość
przeistacza się w wieczne MY
zapadamy się jakby ziemia była płaska
wzloty Dedala upadek Ikara
unieść się odfrunąć i runąć
przepraszam kochanie przepraszam
za te całe wspólne lata powstał dom
bez oddechu w rocznicę
gdzie ściera się początek z końcem
RENATA, 14 march 2021
scałujesz pocałunkiem zacałujesz
fałsz kant obłudę
wystające nitki wątpliwej
jakości wątków z kącików ust
pożądania godny biust
i błysk w oku
w twoim kroku
najlepiej ogrzać myśli
cokolwiek zrobisz nie stracę
błyskawic przeszywających mózg
mógł sporadycznie na falach
odbierać łączność z Otellem
co powodowało wzrost tempa
temperatury między dwoma
pałeczkami szczęścia
zaglądając w rozgwiazdy
już wiesz że tylko z nią
na te połoniny wrzosowiska
dzikie krainy burz i miodu
zachłannie chcesz
by ciągle siedziała na twoim
kutasie unosząc płową grzywę włosów
rozrywany świat na kawałki
magia mydli oczy
a ty cipkę wystawiasz
długo żyję w niepewności
czy ktoś oprócz mnie
konia tam wstawia
głos słodki sugeruje
tylko do ciebie coś czuję
ale po co z innym esemesujesz
tak jakbyś chciała
zostawić furtkę na zapas
następne jutra sklejone
spermą lat lubieżnych
ekskluzywne pokazy
miłosnych praktyk
wyostrzają apetyt bardziej
niż słynna owa
zupa pomidorowa
Satish Verma, 14 march 2021
This command was
unpunishable.
I will not accept the defeat
from life.
You were mending the shoes,
of god. My vase had
broken. This is my burden,
I carry the body of a poem.
Waterfalls. I stand in
midstream. Throw my walking stick
in flowing stream. Will heal
the dead legs of a thought.
The belly is full of crickets.
No light. The unending muffled
trill. The pebbles fall in nightmares.
I seek the ending of blue marks.
The air fills the lungs with your prayers for me.
Satish Verma, 13 march 2021
In moonscape, a flower
remedy, enters the white
smoke of your eyes. An open―
house shuts.
The coal writes its name on
blue skin. We were slaves of our
own deeds. I want to go back to
my ancestors, to learn the clock.
Unheard the suicide of
a viper, eating its own venom.
The fat people will come in line―
to pay homage.
White caps and black caps in
thick silence, drink the empty glasses,
cutting the meat of the books―
and reading again the sky.
Satish Verma, 12 march 2021
Exploring yourself―
with an ornate dagger,
to find the missing link.
My integrity was at
stake. From where did―
you start?
Bring the steel from
the sea, and loneliness
from the storm.
The beige sunset
would dare to go ahead
of the red moon.
Will you threaten a
small reply? The lips were
in the state of siege.
I will meet you
one day at distant dangers.
How far you will go with me?
Satish Verma, 10 march 2021
I do not know,
If it was a religious assault―
to meet god,
face to face―
when my poem was burning.
One tooth broken―
I cannot speak properly. But
my eyes will show my angst,
my unretrieved light
from a tunnel.
Who will find the sun, when
night was sick? And grievers
had gone to dig up a grave?
There was a meaningless pain,
in waiting. The poem was dead.
Day you are in, day you
are out. It was a beauty
to hear nothing.
Satish Verma, 9 march 2021
Starting a crush,
on the baby face moon.
Only half-sinned
by staying quiet.
Think straight.
If you don't spell out,
you will snap―
like the fallen blue angel.
Falling in arms. Space
was small. Ars poetica―
faulted. You feel―
luggage was heavy.
For a griever, it was
a long walk. In trance a
city lifts your pyre.
You refuse to burn alive.
Calling names in sleep.
Satish Verma, 8 march 2021
A circle,
will not become complete,
without a center.
The peripheries
cannot be defined.
Why should we
become prisoners
of small gods?
The hope―
is a gift of unknown.
Take it.
Satish Verma, 7 march 2021
Walk warily.
You are in crisis zone.
Moon will not rise today.
*
A bare phenomenon
of shedding the
fears in dark.
*
Now you will confront
yourself
to take revenge.
*
Like nocturnal
flight of a bat, to find
the mate on plum.
*
Hangs a tale of
a squirrel, waiting
for a Buddha.
Paweł Szkołut, 5 march 2021
Silence
like the white infinite ocean
from the very first moment of creation
out of the primordial chaos.
The first tune of existence
and the only melody of tranquility
permeating all atoms,
the innermost depth pressed into the flower buds.
Silence
the endless background for music
and spoken words,
the primeval mother of all sounds, tones
and noises of this world,
- for the sounds of the swaying seas,
for cat's meditations and murmurs.
The omnipresent as extragalactic
cosmic background radiation.
Silence
the sister of eternity,
the principle for the harmony of the Universe.
The muteness of death,
calmness of Heaven,
first and last.
The pure form.
The fullness of the Word.
In which God dwells.
Silence
- have it in yourself
1984/2018
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