Latest items:
poetry
Satish Verma, 17 march 2022
A Life's Worth
The brown dust―
floats, while reading
poetry.
It was my first―
love with the dancing words
in the jungle of departures.
The genocide of―
reliefs. I erect a shrine
for the slaughter of unknown.
Innocently, I utter―
your name in dark, that
lights up the aubade.
Strange things happen.
I stand where the roads don't cross
parting the emptiness.
The deadpan. Another city falls.
Satish Verma, 16 march 2022
A Day Was Crying
Can you define this relationship?
In a tumultuous city
I was missing…
But in this absence I become whole.
A chemical clock becomes awry.
Night was my poem
I was writing for the moon
and throwing a handful of dust
to meet the dust.
Black flamingo will not
eat tonight. Wading through the
water, its will broken,
searching the pink eyes.
How do I catch you when
you have flown away?
Satish Verma, 15 march 2022
Faultlessly
Trending like a
dog walker, the disheveled
moon, comes out
from the cocoon, to welcome
the new year.
This was a flash point
of pure sulphur,
to steal the kisses in rose valley
of violence.
And you stand at crossbones
to kill, or get killed.
The leader climbs down
to sin, to predate
the celebration of womb's disaster.
Earth trembles
in anticipation. A merciless
shreak comes out from the
man-of-war.
Satish Verma, 14 march 2022
No Rivalry
Something― you wanted to
say, which you would not.
Planet breaks― disheveled, weeping
being― unbeing.
Sometimes you play a game
of trembling legs―
waiting to run away
from your anguished inside.
The last hour of night
blinks. A baby sun about
to be born, and you find yourself
unprepared.
The black letters, on yellow
pages, under the streetlight
dance. A fat dream burns.
A book bleeds.
Satish Verma, 12 march 2022
Thinking Again
Not finding a path
to truth,
going beyond the gods. You
will not listen to my pleas―
still frozen in unthruths.
Death opens the―
holy darkness. I am aware of
the bluffs and black voodoos,
insertion of pins.
Moon-bitten, chasing
the blood cherries, you reach
for the yogi cult in trance.
Every night becomes green.
The sacred knife, cuts
the knot, sort of a hinge.
A celebration starts
throwing stones
on each other.
Satish Verma, 11 march 2022
Waiting For New Year
A lengthy day
to count an arch of colored dreams
in a long queue.
You start sinking
inch by inch, in a deep
obsession of vengeance.
Afraid to leave
the darkness. Cannot see
in the bright glare of sun.
The fall of liberty.
To tell the name of venoms.
How the man has become
a poisonous creep.
An insult to the poet,
singer and artist. Who was
responsible for changing the guards?
Tomorrow was far off.
I am still struggling with today.
Satish Verma, 10 march 2022
Still In Grief
I have become disconnected.
Talking of pose, while shooting
in back, several questions
arise of a staged drama―
missing the lethal word,
releasing the venom.
Poetry of politics becomes evident.
You may spurn the actors,
but the pretence overwhelms.
For testing the secret of depth,
you go down in water
unarmed.
You pull a stretcher, now―
unwrapped. The cremains sink
in the sea― of tears,
unsettling the designed pebbles,
the needles. The tapestry starts burning.
Satish Verma, 9 march 2022
Unkindly
Barebones, they come
in droves, to drink blood moon
praying in catacombs.
A summer night sets
over the hills with black eyes. The
cleavers have some jobs to be done.
In perfection, the bodies
should be laid― along with red woods.
The autistic moon will find its lover.
Aborted dawn, the clouds
had covered the womb. The
terrible sun had been roped in.
Earth weeps. There was
no peace.A ghost town rumbles
on. I cannot crack the code.
Satish Verma, 8 march 2022
A Part Of Whole
I had not asked for
all of you,
walking your path
above the clouds.
Do you think, it was
end of beginning?
The republic of sagebrushes has
nothing to say. Incense stops drifting
in desert of crumbs.
You start talking
to your esteem self for the rigged factuality.
I don't want back,
your virginity of first tears.
Underneath lies the stunned poetry
of the bruises.
There were ruthless secrets
inside your lids.
I will not wait for the moon
to go red.
The swastika wants to justify
the chimneys?
Satish Verma, 7 march 2022
So Be It
Dismantling―
my temple, brick by brick―
skin to skin,
eye to eye,
before the ascension.
The living legend is
dead. I cannot hear the burial
rites. Walls are rising.
The ashes are strewn
on the eyes of moon. Ages ago I
used to smile. Not now.
Accept me, with all
my non-gifts, dead songs and
wailing prayers.
My hands lift the terror
from the sand, palm leaves
crafting a virgin peace.
Latest comments:
11 october 2024
Belamonte/Senograsta
to ciekawe, to może piszesz programy dla szkół?
11 october 2024
Dziękuję, widzę że nie wiem co z tego co
11 october 2024
sam53
jesień tak ma... :)))
10 october 2024
violetta
Piękne kwiaty, chcę takie na balkon:)
10 october 2024
Jaga
Zawsze znienacka jesień życia...
10 october 2024
Groch przez wieki był rzucany/ dzisiaj ściana
10 october 2024
Georginie jesienne :)
10 october 2024
Tak :))
10 october 2024
:)
10 october 2024
Muchomor czerwony, trujący. Ponoć wzięty przez
10 october 2024
:))))
10 october 2024
Eva T.
Jadalny?
12 october 2024
Satish Verma
11 october 2024
wiesiek
11 october 2024
Satish Verma
10 october 2024
wiesiek
10 october 2024
Jaga
10 october 2024
Eva T.
10 october 2024
Satish Verma
9 october 2024
wiesiek
9 october 2024
Satish Verma
8 october 2024
wiesiek