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poetry
Satish Verma, 10 february 2021
Causing Intense Pain
Clouds had veiled
the waning sun.
A topaz.
A blast,
becomes quite blasé at first
then becomes green.
With envy, the moon
gives no light.
My faith tumbles.
Sometimes I ask myself.
Why did you cover
your sore spots?
As a perfect pretext
of buying peace
why did you go for the lies?
Satish Verma, 9 february 2021
Warbirds
O Zero man! you come
with a continuous denial,
of thirst of war,
a habit, predation.
When would you cross the blood lines?
The night blooms.
Sucking stars, moon
and chaste boundaries.
Nothing moves in the
stillness of voice, words.
A green light floats.
When there will be peace?
en face, I was ready to
fold the words, the sky.
Satish Verma, 8 february 2021
Lift The Death's Veil
Questioning yourself―
like a Spanish Inquisition.
Ruthlessly digging out,
the anatomy of arrogance.
No flavor. I speak
to myself of atypical
intolerance of a man in revolt.
The slavery of tongue will not go.
On the verge, the other
thought collapses. No longer
the heritage remains faithful.
Love suddenly becomes
stranger. You won't touch
yourself. The narcissism becomes suicidal.
The black song
empties the mind. You want to weave,
but air does not become green.
I stand alone. The cosmos
moves away.
Satish Verma, 6 february 2021
Sparklers
Life, sex and pain were
of mundane existence.
From where to where, we
have arrived.
*
From a bridge to bridge
you cross the river
without touching the water.
*
When a nameless projectile
downs your flight
you fall like rags
from the sky.
*
A spider runs
on tiptoes
you wilt like mimosa.
*
The ink spills
an the sheet
hiding the code.
Satish Verma, 4 february 2021
In Exasperation
Open the news paper
and find out that war has a set sequence
of going daily,
and has a negativity.
The physical shock, when
the earth trembles. Your body
becomes stone, hairs stand.
Light breaks through the twisted limbs.
I don't love the ritualism.
Time will not stay for you. My life
becomes your life. Sod
will receive the ashes of rage.
And you will delete the
presence, the touch, the dust
of departed fragrance. Once upon
a time, death used to be a song.
Satish Verma, 3 february 2021
Undraped Souls
Inexplicable.
I run my own life, when
epicenter moves to periphery.
A drink of hemlock
from your purple― spotted eyes.
You want to squeeze the blue sky
in your chest.
Was I violating your
sanctum sanctorum, hidden
deep in crevices of ancient love?
Your voice was cracking up
hoarse, as I listened
in silence, concealing my
poem not to explode.
Wings become the tongue
flying off, like possessed
celebration of loosing
the glaze and becoming a naked mammal.
A cold-blooded laugh!
Satish Verma, 2 february 2021
Femina
It was the frontal assault
of brutal summer.
I waited for the rain
to come and fall on my neck.
There was no grief
between the aches.
In starlight, flitting
around in bushes,
fireflies,
you take me in twilight.
The vernacular nirvana
begins, till my moons squeeze.
It was not a stabbing
wound, to be picked up
by a poem in distress. Light
on light will speak
of femineity in dark.
RENATA, 1 february 2021
samiec alfa i szara mysz
Nastukał dzieci we wczesnych
latach dziewięćdziesiątych
ona jak krowa dojna
nie miała wyjścia ani słowa
do gadki
Fatalne warunki mieszkalne
absolutnie nie przeszkadzały
czapki z głów dla ojca
bo inaczej szarosinofioletowe
nogi o stołu
On gotuje on pracuje
on kasę trzyma
on ją dyma
tyle szczęścia w nieszczęściu
że wszędzie razem
sklejeni z krajobrazem
bezkrytycznie
Wciągnął ją w siebie
ona w jego niebie
on ją jebie
ona czy żyje nie wie
Gdy tak idzie za nim
nikogo nie poznaje
cieniem się staje
na świat patrzy
jego oczami
jak sarna niezdarna
pyta czy może się wysrać
czuje się zagubiona
trochę szalona
owca
Satish Verma, 1 february 2021
Afloat In Words
Would not move the things.
They had moved me.
I will never be the same.
Probably a time to learn,
listening to yourself. The
sensors didn't go wrong.
More often I will unroll
my candles and burn
them with my life.
Ripening old, in dry
fountains- waiting for
rains in songs of sorrow.
History does not repeat.
I am preparing myself
to start again writing my book.
Will not commit anything.
Standing in morgue
searching for my unclaimed face.
Satish Verma, 31 january 2021
Afloat In Words
Would not move the things.
They had moved me.
I will never be the same.
Probably a time to learn,
listening to yourself. The
sensors didn't go wrong.
More often I will unroll
my candles and burn
them with my life.
Ripening old, in dry
fountains― waiting for
rains in songs of sorrow.
History does not repeat.
I am preparing myself
to start again writing my book.
Will not commit anything.
Standing in morgue
searching for my unclaimed face.
Latest comments:
9 october 2024
Jaga
Po namyśle zmieniłam :)) Tutaj widoczny tylko
9 october 2024
Zazula przy łące kuka/ gdzie rączka pani nadobna/
9 october 2024
Yaro
Dzięki za komentarz. Przyjdą zapukaj i każą
9 october 2024
Belamonte/Senograsta
o jej, jak upojnie, gloryfikująco - po co się
9 october 2024
szczęścia tylko znaczą
9 october 2024
Taki dramatyczny, ja tam nie jestem taki, spokój,
8 october 2024
Prawda :))) Jeden bardziej pasował mi do tytułu
8 october 2024
violetta
Zauważyłam:) jestem konkretna, a tak owijają
8 october 2024
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
Samotność ukazana...
9 october 2024
wiesiek
9 october 2024
Marian Banaszak
9 october 2024
Satish Verma
8 october 2024
wiesiek
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