Latest items:
poetry
Satish Verma, 27 january 2022
Traumatised
Why did you offer your
eyes, to a non-victim―
of invisible violence?
I broke my silence to―
become deaf, like an
ocean under the ice.
The grainy moon crops
up in dark matter. The blue
bomb explodes in your face.
Blueberries swell on your
lips, throwing the stains on the―
mud path between the hills.
The monk sits for oil―
bath on burning coals.
Truth bursts out as dark lies.
Satish Verma, 24 january 2022
Broken Arms
The witch-hunt starts
for an unexploded bomb.
A racist slur becomes mute
for posterity.
The words start migrating―
coming out of their skin and colors.
A dead man walks into
a coal pit for exoneration.
Breathless, I become privy
to mass suicides of the flying moths.
You become a child, hiding
behind a tree, watching
a tiger maul a striped ariel.
Satish Verma, 23 january 2022
Erecting Another Totem
A conspiracy of the sort.
This is what I wanted
from you.
Abandoned in space―
between the eyes, you were
supposed to lead the humble light
for an elusive peace.
I was lost in the
lexicon of intrigues, the
nest of prudence of the
proverbial lap dance.
Standing at the gate
of morgue, waiting to receive
another caravan of
pseudo remains.
Like a Spartan, you will
not retreat, not bend, your feet
near the grave― still standing erect.
Like wasps the green words would zoom.
Satish Verma, 22 january 2022
Mooning Around
The porus mind―
in the vacant chair, thinking
of infidelity or unbelieving― with
folded hands in prayer
like mantis.
Eating moonlight―
a predator will wait
for a victim fall.
In meditation, you
evolve into Zen. The intuition
to kill, the urge― to go
bald and bare.
The kleptomania. Let me steal
your god from your garden―
without any need. Just
a showpiece.
In a death trap
millions of caterpillars die daily.
Satish Verma, 21 january 2022
Some Profanity
Smearing an uncut―
and whole moon on the forehead
of night―
the crazy wind starts
turning back the clowns.
Tonight the kitchen would be shut down.
Somebody had climbed
the heaven for a joke, and
became a monster.
Beyond the bread and
milk, lies the cow dead. My
soul cries, who will―
jump on the moon?
The end opens a distant―
black water lake.
Satish Verma, 20 january 2022
Reciting The Fake Poem
Making them dead―
in a regal way,
you joined the bomb squad
of poems.
Why did I need to remember
you intensely O god?
Why eternity of enormous
pain would ensnare you? A group
of panthers were going to attack a fawn
in the blue game? Will
you hurt me one day?
You don't cover your eyes
with a black veil. Then what was
the purpose of becoming invisible?
Does a truth live in dark?
There was no
need of law, before
you die, after removing the makeup.
We always discover an excuse
to live lavishly on the hired
words of praise.
There are no more parables
no more prophets.
Satish Verma, 19 january 2022
History Repeats
My killing instincts
were intact.
On this bloody moon day―
I must talk to myself.
Just lips would move,
not the mind.
A mode of non-being
comes in fore. You watch the pansies dancing―
nonchalantly.
The air passes. White phosphorus
ignites on its own.
Memory alternates with pain.
It is not over.
We are still searching ourselves
in a mound of earth.
Satish Verma, 17 january 2022
A Poetic Version
You were at it again.
Ignoring the truth
of lies!
Embodiment suffers
when you break
the sacred threads of perception.
Dried up tears blemishes,
on the voluptuous cheeks of time―
speak another tale,
catching the fire.
In your smashed tree
of verbosity lived
my small poem like a spirit.
Animistic!
You will not write my name
on the sinless rocks before throwing them
in the sea.
And I will watch your face on each
fallen bract of colored bougainvillea.
Satish Verma, 15 january 2022
Not Yet Battered
The pain physical.
I carve it in my mind, to
set it free― like the leaf going
to meet the ground.
To carry myself, holding
within, the desire to seek liberation
from coming and going.
My unroofed walls, taking
in, the sun, the rains―
the storm― the snow.
And my hurts―
my poesy.
I am confronting myself
for the final count.
Satish Verma, 14 january 2022
Remembering You
After victim effect
of hibernation,
I was ready to take a call
of a sudden drop.
The strange idea
engulfs me. Transparency
now speaks.
The fallout may compromise
with ash. I will not.
Someone wakes up my conscience.
A near dead goddess lights
up the last lamp.
The dirty sheets for
the crying dolls―
crying dolls.
Like the dumb finger
in frost, wants to―
write your name in blue sky.
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