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poetry
Satish Verma, 23 january 2018
Outplaying
They walked out gagged
before they entered the water
for an irreverent
ceremony.
It was a coal time
to start the fire. A salute
in light was given to those
who were alive.
You can go for a strip-
search of a gaint jelly fish
to find the vertical beams
in its dome.
A painted stork comes
with an empty pouch. There
was a perpetual delay in
understanding the parenthesis.
Satish Verma, 22 january 2018
Wandering Jew
Counting the digits,
of your hand, you forget,
how many fathers you have.
Was it not very odd that
truth exists in the crying eyes
of a child whose mother
had abruptly disappeared?
It always hurts, when
realization comes. A little
sprig of cowlick, reminds you of
timelessness. You can move-
in any direction. You want to
go. That will need a third eye.
Satish Verma, 21 january 2018
On The Brink
I was trying to communicate
the poverty of words.
We were moving in circles.
Dark figures-
afraid of each other.
What was a shame -
in restraints
of narcissism? You are
not going to take a dip
in opaque waters.
A conceptual withdrawl
from the acrimony of hills.
Night was very cool but
moon will not come down
and grass will not go up.
I will never be generous
in jokes of a monstrous
nose. The stink was awful
but roses were white and
the meaning had no confines.
Satish Verma, 20 january 2018
The Biometrics
The freak accident
of a paranormal mystic, begins
a telekinesis in the dark room
to internalize the chopped off
obsession of sex.
You will be needed as a
fugitive now, in the
muddle of passions. There was
a complete lull before the storm.
A pindrop silence.
An anxiety starts, of-
becoming nothing, in the comfort
zone. The roots look up
at the lunar month, to bail out
the loner, convicted of sedition.
Satish Verma, 19 january 2018
The Biometrics
The freak accident
of a paranormal mystic, begins
a telekinesis in the dark room
to internalize the chopped off
obsession of sex.
You will be needed as a
fugitive now, in the
muddle of passions. There was
a complete lull before the storm.
A pindrop silence.
An anxiety starts, of-
becoming nothing, in the comfort
zone. The roots look up
at the lunar month, to bail out
the loner, convicted of sedition.
Satish Verma, 18 january 2018
Some Prelude
There were, peels
of ripples. Between.
The tangled arguments. Then you
start reading in the bumps;
a cold blooded murder.
Of poems? Serrated, when
I lifted them from your bloody hands.
No miracle. The animal
survives, without water, air.
You come down the ramp
without shoes to reclaim
the heritage.
And that means, there had been
an attempt, to commit suicide!
Satish Verma, 17 january 2018
Nameless
Flame and smoke.
What else your skies have to offer?
Was it not a crime against
poetry articulate?
Come near me.
I want to amble with tears -
of humanity before the fragility
takes a big toll.
Who says it was time
to turn over a new leaf?
The blistering gale had taken
away all the boughs and blossom.
Are you pregnant with some
idea of a candle? When it burns
through night, it has an otherness:
nameless melting.
Satish Verma, 16 january 2018
It Was Invasion
How will you measure the wide
gulf between words and hyphens?
The apostrophes will give you
restrain and isolation.
The predators will sit and
wait for the fallouts. The night
was your domain to start
sinning; in erasing the numbers.
The midnight grief during the
assault of moon. Were you ready
to unmask the hidden inter-
polator? The merciless thrush?
Candidiasis? It was eating
away your smell, your taste
and moments of glimpses
of the fire in the groins.
Satish Verma, 15 january 2018
Ritualist
Boundaries untouched-
I held your hands.
Peer to peer.
The highway apart-
we will become strangers,
when life would beat the flower beds.
From mountain top-
the moon will come down,
to ask for the way to martyrdom.
How will I find you-
riding on a hurricane,
when the deluge underwhelms the bridge.
Not made public-
I took you in moonlight,
celebrating the arrival of the cage.
Satish Verma, 14 january 2018
The Trappers
There was left no middle,
of the path. It was a washed-
out theme and
negative numbers.
No bounce in the steps.
You were cowering in terror
of tomorrow. The fear
overwhelmed the alp.
It was a family feud,
from ashes to bones.
The mixed cadence was sending
the wrong signals to the walls.
The voices now come on the street,
for traditional wars, in
change of seasons. It
was raining out of turn.
Latest comments:
20 november 2025
Jaga
Dziękuję :))
20 november 2025
Nazwij ofiary i oprawców.
20 november 2025
I docenić :)
19 november 2025
Belamonte/Senograsta
ładnie powiedziane, ciałem i odbiciem
19 november 2025
jeśli tylko
Zagubic sie w sobie .. nawzajem..
19 november 2025
Patrzac mu w oczy wypuszczam burzę..
19 november 2025
W lisciach drzew.. w listkach papieru..
19 november 2025
Kruki i wrony ani nic..
19 november 2025
Przyjemnie :)
19 november 2025
Tak piekno az straszno ;)
19 november 2025
Bo co jeze/ jerze powiedzą..
19 november 2025
Dzieki;)
19 november 2025
wiesiek
19 november 2025
Jaga
19 november 2025
ajw
18 november 2025
wiesiek
17 november 2025
wiesiek
16 november 2025
wiesiek
16 november 2025
ajw
15 november 2025
wiesiek
15 november 2025
Jaga
14 november 2025
wiesiek