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poetry
Satish Verma, 11 june 2021
Gleanings
Autumn moon―
in full grace. I have
come out to say hello.
*
Everything was in
order. A stunned silence.
The cuckoo gives a long call.
*
Long ago, such
was the night. I
wrote my first poem.
*
My innocence,
intact― I still feel
my stupidity.
Satish Verma, 10 june 2021
Et Tu?
Like half-brother
moon was following me.
Tonight the dethroning commences
on the murderous hills
of faith.
You grab a snowcloud
to refuse what you would be.
The animal that lives
in you has become silvery haired.
There was a terror of being isolated.
Earth was dying in me.
A bloodied machete―
travels across the lands,
riding on the tears, screams
and disembodied peans.
Lifting a sacred book
the hand trembles involuntarily.
Is it the homicide of bright sun?
Et tu, O man?
Satish Verma, 8 june 2021
The Jealous War
It was very edifying.
When you shut the mouth of
the oppressed―
the mass grave speaks.
The widow was still mourning,
after the causality of my belief,
my psyche, my rights.
You don't make me, then
how can you break? What
was the height of fall,
will you let me know?
The volatile words are now
losing their import. No
real, only cosmetic display.
Let the celebration of
bold death begin.
Satish Verma, 6 june 2021
Mode Of Dying
Brutal. Another lover
too. Four-letter words kill.
A self deception begins.
You shut up in yourself.
From meaningless trivia you
want to extract peace.
The leather was becoming feminist.
You can eat your partner
if conflict increases.
Will you like to read Camus
again? Especially- The Myth of Sisyphus?
The humming birds are
disappearing. No trumpet shaped flowers.
Half-naked in beachdress―
a truth was swept away.
Satish Verma, 5 june 2021
Scissor Hold
I don't want any applause.
Think. think on
what I have to say.
The morgue is full. Still
the bodies were arriving, of
all the dead innocents.
The son, daughter, mother and
father and grands.
What rituals you want to do―
to honour the departed, or
praise the killers?
The rigged notes on paper speak of mendacity.
Between the primates, man
was becoming the beast.
The stone, sculptor and ghost are one.
Satish Verma, 4 june 2021
After The Stampede
The dusk panics.
Molten ash stings, bearing
you down. Your enemy had penetrated
very deep.
Your pride shrinks.
Infinite pains from moonlit streets
climb up the palm trees
to count the dead.
You can not arbitrate in disputes
of wind and flags.
The night rolls down on the
battered past. Your face becomes
a broken clock.
Color-blind, you will never―
know the green recital
of the spokesman.
RENATA, 3 june 2021
wpuszczona w kanał
podpisała cyrograf dla wyjętego z serca
wolność trwała 25sek
zaczęła nowe z kawalerem
słodyczy miód wylewał się z ust
gruszki na wierzbie rosły
z apetytem nadziewał ją na ruszt
sielanka
potem ślub
łup łup łup
cwaniaczek bo się rozpłaczę
tylko że on chce
dziecko dziecko dziecko
rys jest wiele
największa z portfelem
więc aniele
moje twoje dzielmy mnóżmy
i na stół wyłóżmy
także obiad ten niedzielny
wniebowzięta gotowała
to koszty straty i zyski
do podziału miała
a jak nie to synalek do mamy
a żona do kąta
zamknięta w śmierdzącej celi
czy można ją wyleczyć
bo ona mimo jego wyzywania
wciąż jest na etapie zakochania
Satish Verma, 3 june 2021
Una Corda
This was not physical.
Which part of your psyche,
I would touch?
Sometimes you swing
without a rope. A chasm
appears, then vanishes.
Blindfolded you open
a death door to see the fall.
The deep pain bifurcates.
The distance was increasing
between clouds. A crack
of light burns the dark. Animals
awake.
You remember a yawn
of cosmos. Someone becomes a fever,
high as sun, in earthen heart.
Satish Verma, 2 june 2021
Eyesores
A wreath of skulls
you want to hang on the wall.
I don't want to
lose the skin.
The land was bleeding.
Mars mission. A very
lonely flight, pulls me down.
Do you have a
pearl knife?
Small talisman, you used to wear
when you were a child
to ward off the evil spirits.
A buttonless chest. The map
you drew on the torso was tense.
The woods were nowhere. Only
the dry sands.
I wanted to make a slit in the stone,
to release the holy water,
but it was only tears―
Satish Verma, 1 june 2021
Rumblings
You hide behind the words.
It was my priviledge
to start the fire.
Looking at the bare moon
in black sky,
you open the blue veins―
to explore the anatomy of
pain. Sometimes you want
to suffer in the hands of impossible.
Life wants its share of death,
when you were playing autumn,
frightening the lantern.
A nameless breeze offers
the whiff of a musk deer,
that lost the tree for scent-marking.
Latest comments:
8 october 2024
Belamonte/Senograsta
ale jest i tak ładnie, mnie się wątki ciągną
8 october 2024
Marian Banaszak
dokładnie to z dwoma
7 october 2024
Melancthe
Piękne jak zawsze
7 october 2024
Jaga
Samotność ukazana...
7 october 2024
Świetne ujęcie :)
7 october 2024
"Cieszmy się z małych rzeczy "- https://www.google.com/search?client=firefox-b-d
7 october 2024
violetta
Bardzo lubię ten kolorowy czas:)
7 october 2024
Cudnie było, romantycznie/ młodość cud ten
7 october 2024
Jesienna nostalgia :)
7 october 2024
Rześkie, perliste poranki, pobudzają do życia,
7 october 2024
Tak :)) Odrobina pieprzu nikomu nie zaszkodzi,
7 october 2024
Zroszony nocą ;)) Jeślinko dziękuję :)
8 october 2024
Satish Verma
7 october 2024
Jaga
7 october 2024
wiesiek
7 october 2024
Satish Verma
6 october 2024
wiesiek
5 october 2024
wiesiek
5 october 2024
Eva T.
5 october 2024
Satish Verma
4 october 2024
Eva T.
4 october 2024
Satish Verma