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poetry
RENATA, 4 december 2019
przeznaczenie
W księdze pamięci
Urodziła się i jest
Istota komuś potrzebna
Uczy się i dojrzewa
Kwitnie i obumiera
Wartość swoją mierzy
Sumą doświadczeń
I tylko pamięć zostaje
Zbieraczem absolutnym
W drodze do przeznaczenia
Satish Verma, 4 december 2019
For The Skin And Eyes
Not confessional.
Without reading the body
there was no room.
My fever rises
in limbs.
Giving me a double vision.
This was not my age.
Out of place, I
call for limestone.
The sea and
moon will make a castle
on the waves.
Whom do you call
careless? I was writing
the verse on blood paper.
Satish Verma, 1 december 2019
No Carnage
A house without doors
I was living
in fog.
The infamous review
will tell about the
fallen words from the roof.
There was no history,
no culture of
cannibalism.
I only exhaled
the grief of centuries
shielding the ankle's pain.
There had been no
perfect picture of the
dancing god in nude.
A blue face swims.
I draw the map of the smell
of cinders.
George Krokos, 30 november 2019
Simple Observation 151 - It is said that lightning .....
It is said that lightning doesn’t ever strike at the same place twice
and a person passes as a fool who makes the same mistake thrice.
_____________________________
George Krokos, 30 november 2019
On Meditation
Sit in silence and have a break
from everything when you're awake.
Take some time and be by yourself
then you might even improve health.
If this is done regularly
you'll enjoy life more happily.
Close your eyes to then look within
at the darkness that's consuming.
Just observe the thoughts which arise
don't get involved with all their lies.
Seek the light of your Spirit Soul
and it will lead you to the Goal.
_______________________________
George Krokos, 30 november 2019
Ode to Felicity
O Felicity, You have been good to me
how can I ever hope to repay Thee?
Just when I thought that all was lost
Your presence inside me did so accost.
You lifted me gently out of my darkest hours
brightened the day with the colors of flowers;
together with their fragrance while in bloom
was a remedy that dispelled most of the gloom.
And those tears that flowed from my eyes
were in gratitude cleansing like the skies;
after the rains fall and the clouds disperse
the sun shines through with a rainbow verse.
You are so gracious and very caring
in spite of our insolence in despairing;
that grip of sorrow is loosened in our heart
as Your bliss removes the pain bearing part.
Oh, how thankful we should all really be
when we recognize Your uplifting spree;
You are at hand to restore our natural joy
the darkness of ignorance tries to destroy.
__________________
George Krokos, 30 november 2019
Why The Caged Bird Really Sings
The caged bird sings because
it longs for freedom
to fly and be with its own kind
and to know what life is really about
and be able to share it with a soul mate.
That's why the caged bird sings -
a song of hope and for all we know
a mournful yet beautiful sad song
of longing for the life
it was created for and dreams of having
instead of being cooped up in a cage
playing a role that was
never intended by nature
for it to have and live
as a captive show-piece
for a higher evolved form......
The ultimate expression of cruelty
to deprive another creature
of its natural born freedom.....
That's why the caged bird really sings!
________________________
Satish Verma, 30 november 2019
World Moves On
The ethical dilemma,
and chaste abscenity,
were the game changers.
Vowel syncope was making it easier.
Let the most vulnerable
lie still. A pseudowar of words
is going to start.
A blast of vocabulary,
some smothering of smells,
will make the jaws, drop soundlessly.
And many would not
breath easily. It was catastrophe.
The language convulses.
In jungle of gatherings
there was no pond.
I was still searching, the inflection.
The creative touch.
Satish Verma, 29 november 2019
A Nonarrival
Munitions in place
you were ready
to strike.
What you wanted to
find out, I had
found in my poems.
It was the dark night―
that becomes ink.
I am writing in black letters.
What was the
obsessive cult of
fingertips, holding the pen?
Sometimes you look
at you, when
you were not you.
Satish Verma, 28 november 2019
Once On Earth Day
Returning to the ragpicker
like a lone fly
of love triangle, said― were you
writing a letter to confess your love?
Like a glue sniffer, I
am stuck with you.
O brown earth, raw
wounds heal …
When I sing a blade
of grass, when I sit
under moon, holding your
hills for comfort.
My head nestling on
your heaving breast, while
I sleep without―
a dream.
It was devastating to eat
you. Your cauldron, bubbling.
Someone wants to pay
back your sun, your moon.
Latest comments:
13 october 2024
jeśli tylko
tak się zawsze mówiło :)
13 october 2024
artystowski..
13 october 2024
tak, to jest ten konkret (jeden widz) którego
13 october 2024
violetta
Fajne bytowania:)
13 october 2024
Imieniny Kota:)
13 october 2024
Belamonte/Senograsta
Jedna pani śpiewała Arię z Carmen tylko dla
13 october 2024
Jaga
taniec pingwina na szkle...
13 october 2024
klaskanie jedną ręką
12 october 2024
Weronika
Dialog jednej osoby.
12 october 2024
no, też tak mam, nie wiem co się porobiło,
12 october 2024
prawie wszystkie wiersze są o przyrodzie
12 october 2024
tyle się o niej mówi, a dziwi, że przyszła..
13 october 2024
wiesiek
13 october 2024
Satish Verma
12 october 2024
wiesiek
12 october 2024
Satish Verma
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