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poetry

Satish Verma, 11 april 2023

Ephemeral Wings

Night was pregnant
with the moon.
The execution will follow.

An arrow finds
a path, which leads you
in fog of baby steps.

Adoration lived in
the narrow eyes of firefly.
The dark bush sways in
flightless arms.

Embrace of an
angel goes amorously
tense. Negation leaves a
deep wound.

There would be no exit―
of the trembling pain,
live on the flames.

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Satish Verma, 8 april 2023

Fall In November

Hurting myself
in piecemeal to reach
your meanings.

Paradise lost―
for one day, when the makeup
goes in flames.

I will be in sea,
when the valley burns deep
and a Digambara
finds the truth.

The mob was arranged
in place. Wasps had very
thin waists, but stings
were sharp.

The smile was
venomous. You will not
live to see the slaughter.

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Satish Verma, 7 april 2023

In Dustbath

The freckles were
appearing on the face
of Venus―

Arms broken.
A man-eater was shot
dead, while feeding.

The reddened skin
invites a vespa. Sometimes
you love the stings.

You wait for
the sunsets, before the
Venus flytrap shuts.

Drifting on the
dust road, I start
searching my lost address.

How will you hear
my voice?

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Satish Verma, 6 april 2023

Most Gifted

The trauma will not go,
I will go to sea.
My lips reciting veda.

You hire the new currency
to buy a kiss of bodiless lover.
Sky offers the moon.

Infallible palm
spreads the leaves foe your
footfalls not to single
under the sun.

I speak wordlessly
you listen by eyes.

Mercy kissing comes
in vogue. You have increased
the surrender value
before the Agni.

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Satish Verma, 5 april 2023

Who Was Creator?

I am scared.
You are becoming human,
looking back at the
colored leaves falling in autumn.

Was your pain
ripened? And you bled
poems? Ah you were the―
first wooly animal!

Surreal. Dancing
with beautiful words to
entice the lies. To woo
the narcisstic mode.

Thought of dying
shimmers like a fish in silvery
water. I won't throw
the net in your eyes.

River will not drink
its water.

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Satish Verma, 4 april 2023

Hope And Despair

Home coming
was not true. A character
remained unread.

What image was
holy? You walk barefoot
after worship to listen
the voices of earth.

The volcano weeps
for centuries, waking
the flames one day. What
were the questions
which had no answers.

A pink bandana
becomes the heartache
of moon. No star was
worthy of you.

The book wipes out the
new sermons.

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Satish Verma, 2 april 2023

Out Of Question

Will you break the
golden triangle, one day,
and come to river?

Time-lapse memory.
I will meet you midway to
hold your rough hand.

Do me a favor.
Write the other name of fire.
When you walk on the
sleepingvipers.

Can you push the
rock like Sisyphus after
refusing to color the night?

Rose is rose. Can
you commit for black petals
which will stay
in hot sun?

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Andrzej Talarek, 1 april 2023

Psalm Siódmy. Sędzią narodów, Panie, byłeś zawsze.

Biblia Tysiąclecia: Modlitwa oczernionego
Jan Kochanowski: W Tobie ja samym, Panie, człowiek smutny
Księga Psalmów dzisiejszych: Sędzią narodów, Panie, byłeś zawsze.

Sędzią narodów, Panie, byłeś zawsze.
Dziś tym daliśmy sędziom spraw sądzenie,
co za pieniądze wyroki łaskawsze
mogą nam wydać po przystępnej cenie.
Więc nie czekamy na Twe rozstrzygnięcia,
bo zbyt odległe, trudne do przyjęcia.

A prawa nasze, choć nienaturalne,
pisane krzykiem pod dyktando tłumu,
w konstrukcji swojej są akceptowalne
dla ludzi biernych, wyzbytych rozumu.
Myśli zaś skryte w słowach uładzonych,
policja pozna jak Ty, Nieskończony.

Czego przez spowiedź do Ciebie nie ślemy,
na świat krzyczymy miliardami bitów
i słowa w sercu, i nerkach mielemy,
aż wyjdzie papka ni grzechów, ni shitów.
Za złudną tarczą firewalla trwamy,
opiekę Twoją na przyszłość chowamy.

Choć bywa chwila, gdy jesteśmy sami
z czymś, co sumieniem ciągle nazywamy,
nie definiując, myśląc sloganami,
gdy z nagłym krzykiem nocą się zrywamy.
Gdy dobroczyńcę lub wroga wspomnimy,
obu skrzywdzonych, i się zawstydzimy.

I ciemność lepka staje przed oczami,
w sufit myśl chroma uderza jak kamień,
niby ptak nocą, bo nie ma Cię z nami,
a sędziom sądzić nie daliśmy sumień.
Chcemy słać apel do wyższej instancji,
rojąc na jawie wydumane racje.

A kiedy wreszcie sen nas ukołysze,
zapominamy rankiem nasze zmory.
One przed śmiercią zabiorą nam ciszę,
całego życia wskrzeszając upiory.
I nie zdążymy wyjść z grzechów gęstwiny,
by przed Twym sądem stanąć już bez winy.

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Satish Verma, 1 april 2023

This Panorama

Sitting on a white
rose, the miniature god
writes the lines of life.

Inside animal implodes.
The dark blue blood has a
weird relationship
with broken limbs.

Dismembered,
I don't want to die again.
The bright Ariel claims
for the rebirth.

Was there a promise
to repair the flesh torn
out from the bones
of faith?

It is too much dark
here, I don't see your face.

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Satish Verma, 31 march 2023

Ash On Roses

I am, because
you are not there.

In cold blood
you slice the moon
and drink the tears.

The forest path
opens for the shot
tigress. She will
survive.

A mysterious hand
picks up my name to
write a wounded
poem.

There was no war
between the gatherers
of blood-soaked shirts.

Will you come back
bone, flesh, heart?