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poetry
Satish Verma, 21 june 2022
How To Proceed
Opening night's silk,
remembering you, under moon―
walking on wet grass.
You were not fake in
a crowd of naked fakirs,
taking bath in sun.
The truth must come out
to face the mother tongue,
when god was killed.
Where it hurts, the shoe's
nail. Prodigal son was blind.
Did not read the road.
Satish Verma, 20 june 2022
In Terrible Times
Poetry stares, unblinkingly,
in dilemma―
at mindless extremism.
Evolution of words,
was going retrograde.
Your pretty face―
needs dusting. I was
curious to know about the story
of night shifts.
Sometimes I am hit―
by your feline grace to go for
immolation of male chauvinism.
You erect the barriers,
so that I won't
reach your lips. The moon
went laughing whole night.
A slow poison, like
hemlock, you drink the hurts
to stay alive in a wax house.
Satish Verma, 19 june 2022
Flowery Path
I will return you
to yourself in the twilight
of waning moon.
No more we will speak
in dark, to read the message
of holy night in pain.
A long way to reach
you in misty thoughts after the
priest breaks the vowels.
Something was certainly
wrong. Coffin was on way to
pick up the vessel.
Satish Verma, 16 june 2022
Pragmatically
I will not have any
alliance with your words
I am lost in wordless thoughts.
Ask the dead phrases―
you repeat often. Like evil hydra,
new heads come out daily.
This is my domain, my
battlefield. The letters do not
take any shape. Dots speak.
I love the statue
of laughing Buddha. Melting
the pods of transmission.
You know that, you do not want to say.
Satish Verma, 15 june 2022
Mystic Paths
In alternative lies,
a which-hunt starts―
to find the blue eyes trapped
in amber.
Who will ask, not to
dig in the land of suicides,
without boundaries?
Behind you, were hidden the
rocks. The thin-lipped screams
would not reach the nests.
The color fades, when you move
in the sun. Survey
was futile for another truth.
Courier was walking limp.
Cherries were withering in moon.
Bare-foot a journey starts to collect
the salt of eyes.
In the crowd of swans― nobody
has found the water.
Satish Verma, 14 june 2022
Smoking Candles
Soundlessly steps move, in
midmoon― deleting trust.
Now I am the time.
You left your guitar
on the moving sands of beach.
Waves pick up the song.
Watching a seagull―
wolfing out from eye socket,
of a sinking fish.
A gift from a barbie
doll of tanned skin in nun's garb.
Please stand in hot sun.
Satish Verma, 13 june 2022
You Don't Tell Me
How much to live
for you in different ways
becoming just me.
My grief mixes with
the clouds to rain on the
wings of songs.
Chenille. Like lifting
your memories
with beautiful metaphors.
Nonverbally the words
fall on the roses,
without any cause.
I bring back the moons.
Satish Verma, 12 june 2022
Like Searching Some Heirloom
It came like a hail
of leads.
An avalanche of
frog words.
There was no apology for pods.
Living in a seed vessel,
was very precarious. It
splits open from both sides.
You stand naked amidst
the barbs.
Will ever the man will do god
to a man?
I come near the lake
when moon lives.
Something was wrong. He was
looking very thin tonight.
I was not prepared for the pink tears.
Satish Verma, 11 june 2022
Trashing The Skill
Veneer was coming
off. Tribal fear to fore, am
trying to figure out.
From where the light will
come, between the pain and heart?
I will wait and watch.
After paying debts―
I will wake you up. When it
was my time to leave.
There was an anti―
hymn on my lips, when light went
out. End comes to play.
Marek Gajowniczek, 10 june 2022
Przeszło życie swoją drogą...
Przeszło życie swoją drogą
niczego cofnąć nie mogąc,
a gdy nieraz się zachwiało,
na innych się opierało.
.
Stawało się wspólnym życiem.
Śniło sen o dobrobycie
i o pogodnej starości,
co ozdobą jest ludzkości.
.
A czy jest? Hmm... czasem bywa,
jeżeli się nie wyrywasz
i pogodzony potrafisz
siąść i nie pchać się na afisz.
.
O karierach, o selekcji
wciąż ci dają wielu lekcji
mędrcy oraz politycy
cyrkla oraz węgielnicy.
.
Kilku współczesnych Kordianów
nie znosiło tego stanu
i nagle odeszło w ciszy.
Dziś już o Nich nie usłyszysz.
.
Życie bogobojne, stare
obraziło świat nadmiarem
i kosztem redystrybucji.
Pieniądz pragnie rewolucji.
.
Świat dla wszystkich jest za mały.
Rozwarstwienie i podziały
światłości na barwy tęczy
rozpaliły bój zastępczy,
.
Plany mocarstw czekać mogą.
Przeszło życie swoją drogą
i na bezmiarze tułaczym
śladu czasu nie zobaczy.
Latest comments:
17 may 2025
violetta
Może dlatego, że za dużo ch na końcu, tak
17 may 2025
AS
*) ciepłych
17 may 2025
Jaśminy się już budzą:)
15 may 2025
sam53
Ach ta poezja...podoba mi się pointa... :)
15 may 2025
potężny tekst; Twoja proza jest równie mocna
15 may 2025
Bezka
Genialnie piszesz! Ukłon!
15 may 2025
wolnyduch
No, cóż powiem tak - nobody is perfect, nie
15 may 2025
Belamonte/Senograsta
ok, szanuje , to czego od niego oczekujesz jest
14 may 2025
P.S Napisałeś szczerze na kogo stawiasz, zatem
14 may 2025
To prawda, że tutaj zawsze jest obecne mistrzowskie
14 may 2025
Toya
Bardzo dziękuję, Mistrzu :)
14 may 2025
wspaniały, cudownie napisany Wiersz... ukłony
17 may 2025
wiesiek
15 may 2025
wiesiek
13 may 2025
marka
13 may 2025
marka
13 may 2025
wiesiek
12 may 2025
wiesiek
11 may 2025
wiesiek
9 may 2025
wiesiek
8 may 2025
wiesiek
7 may 2025
wiesiek