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poetry

Renato N. Mascardo, 31 march 2016

gone

sipping
my cup of hot
sake i no longer
taste its sweetness
gone like your smile
just before you left.

renato
wednesday 30 march 2016

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Satish Verma, 30 march 2016

Always struck by infinity,
I was searching a center,
and time was walking through me mutely.

Covered in tremors I was ready to abdicate
the flavours of life.
Exhausted, wearing rags of knowledge
I discovered the finite in hostile virtues.

This was a manic dance full of foggy dreams
scaling the impossible insomnia
and silence was falling like snow flakes.
Silhouette of death hovers around the praying lips,
we pocket the coins of memories
and forget the bitter past.

Perpetual stress breaks the neck
awfully engraving the pain.
I stammer for a barometer.

I perceive you my ghost, a reminder
of my frightened childhood, when I lost my home
in the labyrinth of mirrors.
Cannot stop it, the dark now spreading in the eyes,
My kids won’t understand my hushed withdrawl.

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Renato N. Mascardo, 29 march 2016

backyard feeding time

little sparrow first
to peck on scattered seeds soon
sent off by big jay

renato
tuesday 29 march 2016

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Satish Verma, 29 march 2016

Failing God

Onlooker to your own empty life, you try to conceal
it was not that simple, to confess in silence.
Pain was the first question,
I give no answer.
The smell of pungent sweat
and levitating incense are entwining in the air.

Seeking my own truth, I abandon the path
and fall upon lies.
The lofty drama of life unfolds.
I was not seeking any labels.
Devoid of sanity, the possessed people were dancing,
around the fire without flames.

Fear of infinity haunts me,
I must answer to myself
to solve the mystery.
Of the fragility of my existence,
amidst the sounds of stubborn, half-baked truths.
This is, therefore a part of my poem,
dedicated to a failing god.

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Renato N. Mascardo, 28 march 2016

payola

lent ends
easter begins
church pews overflow with
occasional faithful alms giving
bribers

renato
sunday 27 march 2016

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Satish Verma, 28 march 2016

Inadequacy

A silence speaks up at ungreen
age for an unknown, finding
dark matter in hiddenness
of sleazy light.

A dove in the valley of tulips
stops a flight for a wayfarer.

What was that persisists, in envioronment and bunkers?

Queen bee will decide for a spliced
dawn of honeycomb in a bloodless coup.

The stings were the torchbearers.

A smile comes out with a walker. The
vitals were dysfunctioning.
The end does not need any comma.

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Satish Verma, 27 march 2016

Unreplied

Question of me,
vanquishing the existence, arises again,
At times life repeats the horror.
Insufficiency of a heart builds an orphanage,
I play the game, then flounder.
Poison is spreading -
the myth of absurdity overtakes,
truth breaks into splinters

Me and my dialogues with life speak of celebration
in vitro. Taking off the camouflage.
The body prints the friction,
but the descent of dark
and other questions remain unreplied.
The soul suffers in a hole.

All the pretty meanings,
become meaningless when time abstracts,
the stone prevails upon the daisies,
sin and desire go for a reward.
The door does not open,
I put aside the beholder
and give a voice to dead tongue.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Renato N. Mascardo, 27 march 2016

spring

the cherry blossoms
are almost out will be here
soon but when will you

renato
saturday 26 march 2016

number of comments: 0 | rating: 1 | detail

Satish Verma, 26 march 2016

Slashed Wound

In the silence of a nameless night, the moon invades
to bring out secret tears,
a perfect sky quivers.
The smell of human flesh flies,
and the spirit swirls down the history,
your hands seize little gods to get the answers.

How long this meditation on self destruction will continue?
Because of ending, decapitated faith loses eloquence.
The myth of eternal happiness slits the eyes.
Your blood drips from myriad capillaries -
And a new proverb commands the winds.

It opens to world like a slashed wound, your ruined life.
What was the mortal question of body to the soul?
Living for the day was very painful,
insistence on past was contradictory,
transparency had no consolation.
Absurdity of fog was there to stay.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma, 25 march 2016

Stuffed Silence

Winds define the path now, in order not to submit
the discovery of another guilt.
The glory stumbles.
Before the altar, man becomes a souvenir.
Mechanically you walk like a robot, proud and erect,
cannot commit suicide.

Secret of discovering a faith was, not to kill yourself.
Shivering in awakened reality,
you grope with cauterized vision,
to resolve the conflict.
The revelation does not come.
Unchained freedom will come late,
when you become the destiny.

Everseeking a revolution, brain will find a false excuse.
The archives do not give a clue,
not exactly the circumstances,
but history collected the dirt.
Concepts could not bring out,
transformation of a prejudiced spirit.
fear and stuffed silence had the answer.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

10 - 30 - 100

Latest items:

poetry

gone

Hushed Withdrawl

backyard feeding time

Failing God

payola

Inadequacy

Unreplied

spring

Slashed Wound

Stuffed Silence

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