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poetry
Satish Verma, 30 june 2020
My Ignorance
What happens when
you stop thinking?
Reaching near the god
or becoming a stone?
It was not enough even,
when you go in coma.
A shrine of dazzling failures.
The animosity, the politics
of violence.I cannot remain
untouched.Wounds would
never heal.
All fever.I am not alive.
of the marvels of religion.
I ask you to go away.This
Friday another Christ will die.
Becoming whole.Was it
possible today amidst the
unbecoming of human beings?
Satish Verma, 29 june 2020
Disbanding
Pupil was on parole.
You abandon the inexhaustible
patience with increasing distance.
Everything was fading
when you look back.
The things, always return.
Like you did not carry a bundle
of postcards written
by your father, while emptying
the house.
His carved signature is still
printed in my brain.
Now my grand daughter saves
the e mails sent by me. The woes
of a pilgrim. A neutral passage
with no feel. Some day a glitch
will wipe out the treasure.
We have changed the costumes.
The inside has raw palisades.
Satish Verma, 28 june 2020
Moratorium
A city burns.
The child carries the father
on his head.
The museum of skulls.
Nudes had blue veins
and scars on thighs.
The names were inherited.
Gettysburg water
refuses to mend the bones.
Ah, daisies are throwing
up the seeds in despair.
Civilization has come very far.
Progeny of death
were searching the mother
of all sins.
Satish Verma, 27 june 2020
In Moonscape
A streak of sin was
always there, when I looked
at you in brief encounters.
Cathartic.
I would not kiss the
eyes of a viper.
The giver was insane.
A bane of togetherness.You
were getting pheromones all the time.
Parenting was difficult.
Now as the holy month starts.
You were always near the moon.
In golden sunset,
I will prepare my elegy.
The flames were always green.
With the relapse of grief,
drums sounded loud.
Satish Verma, 26 june 2020
The Claudication
Is raining. Since night.
You have no claim on
dry lips. Wry stance. The
city walks slowly. Wasted
faces. You want to kill
the words, the profanities.
Want to unwrap the knife.
I don't need any flowers.
Always making faces. Too
Many boats in the sea of eyes.
Rowing, arowing. I am
Afraid. The fast currents. And
then my shirt becomes stained.
Dirty words.
You reach the bottom. The
terrible depth. Digging up
my body. Even my hands
become shovels. Slowly
I erase my name on the sand.
The sea has divided us.
Satish Verma, 25 june 2020
Let's Decide
Less of charity
was needed, when you sleep
till dawn.
The spirit of the tree
comes down to
wake up the sage.
It spills the light
for a troubled window
cracked by hail.
A drenched house
of words
becomes pale, page by page.
I do not know
how to tell the story
of two bats which flew without wings.
Renato N. Mascardo, 24 june 2020
Poems on Virtues 2
in praise of humor
so Job
was put to the
test this just and blameless
man disaster struck not once not
twice but
countless
times he lost
his wealth loved ones friends and
wealth yet he persevered and he
endured
his faith
unbending in
the midst of his sadness
and despair he battled on day
after
day a
serious man of
virtues of fortitude
gratitude fidelity and
patience
for want
of humor a
risible virtue the
holy man sank into deep
despair
armed with
humor he could
have grasped the absurd
in the morass of affliction
and said
“my body sores are many and really bad
but if yours are worse then you are dead”
renato
wednesday 24 june 2020
Satish Verma, 24 june 2020
Aham Asmi, I Am I Am
Night melts into tears
day sums up the pain.
A fear stalks the flute,
and darkness falls on the drapes.
I was a lake
and I was the sun.
I held you on to my breast.
Give me your fangs
and give me your venom.
I was blue and I am the death.
Centuries of wounds
and million of scars.
Silence of sky
and lull in the clouds.
I am the fire
and I am the gale.
Satish Verma, 23 june 2020
Ink Fall
Snakebitten
you raise your hand:
not to strike back,
but to salute the pain.
Weaving the aurora of stainless performance
of inevitable.
Not going to change my path.
Gazing through years,
the fog, the hurts.
You were flame-born
in strong winds.
Father of woods,
the hunger was very faithful.
Satish Verma, 22 june 2020
Unmaking Me
I want to shake them off,
the weird thoughts,
like a swarm of bees,
buzzing, whining, aimed at nothing.
Want to write me off?
Loneliness.I
observe the hands of a watch,
looks like they are not moving.
Time stands still.
Waits for me to move.
An atavistic ache.Again I view the world.
Everybody is making a sound without bending.
With dreams dead, I step into emptiness,
barefoot, to feel the earth.
Not going to quit,
free to kill my ghost,
I move into sunlight.
Latest comments:
11 october 2024
Belamonte/Senograsta
to ciekawe, to może piszesz programy dla szkół?
11 october 2024
Dziękuję, widzę że nie wiem co z tego co
11 october 2024
sam53
jesień tak ma... :)))
10 october 2024
violetta
Piękne kwiaty, chcę takie na balkon:)
10 october 2024
Jaga
Zawsze znienacka jesień życia...
10 october 2024
Groch przez wieki był rzucany/ dzisiaj ściana
10 october 2024
Georginie jesienne :)
10 october 2024
Tak :))
10 october 2024
:)
10 october 2024
Muchomor czerwony, trujący. Ponoć wzięty przez
10 october 2024
:))))
10 october 2024
Eva T.
Jadalny?
11 october 2024
wiesiek
11 october 2024
Satish Verma
10 october 2024
wiesiek
10 october 2024
Jaga
10 october 2024
Eva T.
10 october 2024
Satish Verma
9 october 2024
wiesiek
9 october 2024
Satish Verma
8 october 2024
wiesiek
8 october 2024
Satish Verma