Latest items:

poetry

Satish Verma, 6 may 2021

Uncensored

Begins to reel,
the dusk,
down the street.

The grey moon waits,
solemnly, for the
music of earth to start.

There is enigma―
in dark. You see
the inside of a shut house.

Like the stone
eyes reading the heliograph
of shrunken gods.

Plunged into a gorge
your eyes, to find
the secret of a fall.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma, 5 may 2021

Thinking Off

The clouds hang on the strings.
I cannot dry my eyes.

Picking up the pine cones, on grass―
one by one, as the years went by.

How did I lose my home again?
Were there not footprints in snow?

The caladiums, you planted in
summer, had the crimsoned spots.

Like the kirmizi sun
dipping in lake one night.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma, 4 may 2021

What You Were

Cessation had no direct threats.
You had stopped thinking.

A shadowy future starts hating
you and your financial motives.

The September light falls on leaves
ready to go, yellow-brown-red.

You are still warm, still receptive
of the hollyhocks to welcome you.

A guiltless flight with singing birds―
homing to their mating abodes.

You want to arrive
without qualms, without fainting.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 1 | detail

Satish Verma, 3 may 2021

Unending Rope

How will you be defining
a war, when you
meet without machetes?

Between real and fiction
lies a deficient bridge.
We will go for a walk to find―
the weak spots.

A dead city moves in its
entirety. You prepare yourself
to read the tea leaves.

The dregs were in power.
Why you were becoming schizophrenic?
Do not blow at the dead sparks.

How long the shadow now
you want to throw?

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

RENATA, 2 may 2021

zdziwienie ma gorzki smak

kochałem Cię mocno tak
bez Ciebie mój nie istniał świat
a potem wspólne dzieci i dom
szczęście u naszych stóp dyndało

a może to -fatamorgana
od rana do rana
w mojej głowie jest dobrze

wyruszyłaś raz w delegację
do miasta A jak zawsze
ja na powrót Twój czekałem z kolacją
winem dziećmi i psem i wiem

spóżniłaś się lecz strach oczy wielkie ma
a może to -fatamorgana

A tam daleko gdzieś w mieście B
pędząc od kochanka rozbiłaś się
pijany tir drogę blokował
teraz Ty w śpiączce mnie łeb rozbolał

drżę w szoku czekając na przebudzenie twe
wybaczyć chce serce me
nie dzieje się nic bez przyczyny
przyznajmy się do błędów i winy
wszak nuda i rutyna
od miłości odpycha

fatamorgana w głowie trwa
obudz się ty wybaczę ja

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

RENATA, 2 may 2021

cytryna

w gardło się lało
w głowie szumiało
i ciągle się chciało
na bani być

kołysze się pokój
a może żyrandole
dajcie wy mi spokój
bo wam przypierdolę

język się zaplątał
aż stąd do kolan
zahaczył o pięty
chyba pierdolnięty

zwinął się w supełek
gdy tak właśnie już
chciał dojebać komuś
a tu ani rusz

oj biada będzie z ciebie marmolada
na cóż jest dziś maskarada
ręce rozkłada i zaciska
ależ ty jesteś brzydka
jak cała łażnia publiczna

tylko jeden jest ideał
który innych poniewierał
ten co w lustrze się ogląda
i najładniej zawsze wygląda

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma, 1 may 2021

Come Again

Intercepting the random
poems, pick not
the holy water, in your palm.
I cannot lift the words.

Dark bellies, in moon's
autumn, will play with flutes.
You will swoon on the
sight of blood at the hands.

It was not the first time, a
lamb in the midair―
falls on the golden spear of
new theme, to bluff the naiveness.

Somebody takes a turn, to
find the bell, which will not send
any sound, on the death of
the poppies.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma, 30 april 2021

Contradiction

A textual study
of pain and bliss.
I was coming for a reprisal
from a temporal crisis
of intimacy.

Always gnawing at me,
the roll down from
love to hate. Which was
impersonating what, like
a talking parrot?

Soft murder. You will
half-die, poker-faced in
grey night under the full moon,
holding a poem
written for a black sun.

I shall never get
over my dilemma.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma, 29 april 2021

Not Blameless

Whoso stills the
thunder, it was difficult
for you to lift yourself.

A failed past was―
asking for a date
with destiny.

What your gut bacteria
would say, when
it is raining hot kisses?

I extricate myself
from the shelled house
of pride against the risk.

Should I prepare myself
for the worst? Midnight
syndrome will attract the moths?

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma, 28 april 2021

Pain Of Hawthorn

Butchers were in panic.
The bulls are coming.

Dandelions were
in strike mode.
The Ebola dream
was competing.

Nobody there
sleeps in open.
The stink of dying
poems overwhelms.

Please make a
self-potrait like
Rembrandt nude
without a mirror.

There was no
night watch.