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poetry
Satish Verma, 30 january 2022
One Pyrexia
I am the circumference
and I am the center.
My math has failed.
Snooping at your dark gods,
the pi fumbles. Reverse
osmosis starts.
After lynching the saint
you put him on pedestal.
The frenzy, the blaze, and mayhem begins.
The portrait of the fugitive
was incomplete. Lilies
drop the colors and become nuns.
The cage becomes bigger.
You leave the salt. Tears
with laughter would do.
Satish Verma, 28 january 2022
How To Decipher
Like a virgin birth,
a poem floats
without any pain.
Superimposes, as if
on a face, like Mona Lisa,
with her mysterious smile,
longing a release from
the cycle of rebirth.
Are you going to reperform
for me, your silent
surrender, bewildering
a lost pilgrim?
Will you become a
sitter like a moon-faced, veiled
by crying clouds? I had been
trying to touch your lips, eyes.
This vicious assault
was for me. Stony eyes, and
the striking hood―
impel kleptomania.
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.
Latest comments:
28 november 2024
Jaga
wiatr może zmienić się w wicher...
28 november 2024
niczym oko spod długich rzęs...
28 november 2024
Mgła jest tajemnicza, dziękuję :)
28 november 2024
Zwłaszcza mgłą otulony, dziękuję :)
28 november 2024
Miasto smogów...
28 november 2024
sam53
ukłon absyncie:),
28 november 2024
podoba mi się ta miniatura...podana z humorem
28 november 2024
absynt
Są w pierwszej lidze, która naznaczyła moje
28 november 2024
Eva T.
:)
28 november 2024
Belamonte/Senograsta
Kiedyś podziwiałem Millera i zazdrościłem
27 november 2024
violetta
Taki kamuflaż:)
27 november 2024
Niesamowite zdjęcie
28 november 2024
Jaga
28 november 2024
wiesiek
28 november 2024
absynt
28 november 2024
absynt
28 november 2024
Eva T.
27 november 2024
absynt
27 november 2024
absynt
27 november 2024
Eva T.
27 november 2024
Jaga
27 november 2024
Eva T.