Latest items:

poetry

Satish Verma, 7 june 2017

Elevating

It was not your body,
but blood was on the wall.

Inhale the stench of the day.
Grim scene, the multiple kisses
of marrow and flesh. You were
not drawing him, inviting-

him tonight for a date,
but the fetch was on the wall.

From, to turn. Put a starfish
in my bowl, to play. There was
a guest waiting at the door. Will
not abuse your lock and key.

Crawling, groping, darkness descends.
But there was a light on the wall.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Sztelak Marcin, 6 june 2017

Loty ćwiczebne

Po zmroku odrywam ostatni zapięty
guzik. Ciasno upycham w pościel
nużące modlitwy — niezbyt wygodnie,
ale gdyby przyszło się nie obudzić
będzie jak znalazł na drogę.

U jej kresu nieunikniony powrót
do wody, jeszcze nierozdzielnej.
Tam puszczę pączki, zakwitnę
i nawet nie pomyślę o porannej
kawie. Nie wspominając o miłości.

Tylko że skrzydła
podcięte sprawną ręką rzezaka,
rytualnie.

number of comments: 1 | rating: 1 | detail

Satish Verma, 6 june 2017

Hepatica

Black livers?
Are you really desperate
after a vision? Miasma
rising?

A disheveled sky was
calculating. Tide was turning
back carrying the
tremors of shores.

Was that true, you faith
thinning? I see myself
getting ready for slanting moon
eating seeds of death.

It tears through
the veils of abstract. Are you
looking back at paralyzed
sun who has swallowed a stabile?

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma, 5 june 2017

The Iron Gate

Do not remember the names.
Somebody is waiting in the wings.

It is very dark here. The drums
will break the mother’s heart.

The death will not accept the
dew on the grass. She wants tears;

The Buddha is taking a turn
in his sleep. Why is he so restless?

O, my father, I am watching the
fields turning into piles of ash.

Cannot shut the eyes for a jiffy.
Will you write something for the god?

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma, 4 june 2017

In Thoughtless Mind

That fleeting incandescence
was branded witch
in grotto of a cloud.
For the first time I saw
your face in water.

You said this is manic
depression talking to flowers
and seeing a bizarre
apparition in dark blue sky.

What was the thing called
arrival? Every moment
a truth dies before
your eyes.

Between laughter and tears
I touch your eyes. Is that real?
And your brown ankles
walking on white snow.

I am soliciting a bloodstained
floor for a dance.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma, 3 june 2017

Scything

Why did your hand
become the fist?
You were thinking about the indignities
heaped upon the lake,
when you were retrieving a song
of freedom from the depth of questions.

There was no capitulation.
You went on opening the congealed-
blobs of blood to know
the keynote of violence.

The sectarian hate.
It outlives the love of brotherhood.
You want to go back to, from where
the jungle starts. It had swept
away the snow-white young
peaks.

Footprints of some movement.
Can you see that?

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma, 2 june 2017

Heavenly

Walking with death
talking poetica.
Living without walls
and firing squad.

While new culture was
drowning on steps of
dots and bass voices.
The blood on hands.

Sometimes you are going
nowhere in a pathless
city. Back to back setting
ablaze bazaar of black gods.

Between the veils lies
the trauma of man. I
step out from the underside of
hymns. Cannot sleep in temple.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma, 1 june 2017

At Precipice

There was soft
purring. Inviting but malicious,
when you entered the cave.

A bittersweet encounter.
Quantified. A new dna print
after a cyber attack.

Another turn of the Venus.
The whole world
has never been the same.

Anatomy of violence
was shaping the
future bêtes noires.

Stupid thing, our roots
still commingled with dust
searching the stone-deaf god.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma, 31 may 2017

Stepping Out

In the valley of death
one more guest arrives.
By my sleep, there is a soul search.

Take off the lid from silence.
Unlach the door.
The wounded sun was coming.

Be my grief to wash the eyes.
Unclench my fist.
I want to write the name of fallen god.

Inhale the sulphur and
draw the moon.
Night was coming to take revenge.

An obituary will glorify
the asylum.
An alien will enter the skin.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Morgan, 31 may 2017

Stress

Stress, Stress, who are you, what are you?
a lot of people seem to know you.
Stress, Stress, I hear your name alot,
but I can't recall your face
I can't recall your voice, Stress,
and you're completely odorless.

Stress, Stress, what are you, Stress?
Are you a god? Are you a goddess
with symbols and familiars?
Are you a cloud? A jellyfish?
Like God, you are known by your works, I guess.
Like God, you get so much bad press.

Everyone blames you for this, Stress.
Everyone blames you for that.
They say they can feel your breath on their necks--
that where they step, you step
like a shadow assassin. And, they're scared, yes.
Do you do it, Stress? Confess.

Can you cause piles? Can you cause shingles?
Can you make people late?
Can you cause PMS?
People say yes.
You could never get a fair trial, Stress,
not in this state.

Can you cause flat feet
or the grippe to linger?
Can you cause hair lip
Can you cause cancer?
People say yes but where's the proof?
No matter how quickly they twist

they can never see your face
for you are like a mist.
Stress, you are like a heat
Maybe you don't even exist.
Stress, I'll tell you this:
I think you have a libel case.

You are never seen at the scene of the crime--
mug shot, fingerprint, jammering witness
oddly inavailable. Stress,
I think you got blamed, I think you got framed--
I believe in your innocence, Stress.
So tell them to just bust off.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

10 - 30 - 100

Latest items:

poetry

Elevating

Loty ćwiczebne

Hepatica

The Iron Gate

In Thoughtless Mind

Scything

Heavenly

At Precipice

Stepping Out

Stress

Latest comments:

contact with us