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poetry
George Krokos, 25 september 2019
A Long Lost Love
I fell in love and lost my heart
and that was why it tore apart.
The love given wasn't returned
by the one for whom it had yearned.
It all seemed so sad at the time
I often thought it was a crime.
But then I could be so naive
early in life's path to believe.
Nature's hand had dealt me a blow
and recovery was very slow.
Everyone I asked was futile
in answering to make me smile.
I sought for love in wrong places
and all I got was strange faces;
looking back at me with contempt
'cause in their heart love was exempt.
Rejection is a dreadful thing
and everyone has felt its sting.
A love you may feel for someone
is best experienced as fun.
Never force love on another
even if they're a real brother
You'll just draw them further away
and who knows what else is at play.
________________
George Krokos, 25 september 2019
A Bumble Bee Mystery
I once had seen a bumble bee
or so I thought it was to me.
In the backyard one sunny day
I saw it flying low and stay
hovering there near a flower
as I walked by like a tower.
It was big and did seem busy
looking at it made me dizzy.
Glowing in an unearthly light
and its colours were also bright.
It almost seemed now I recall
that scene was supernatural.
Because in the blink of an eye
it vanished without telling why.
I looked around hoping to see
where it had gone this bumble bee
But no matter how hard I tried
I never again caught or spied
another glimpse of that creature
with such a radiant feature.
____________________
Satish Verma, 25 september 2019
I Will Write A Poem
He used to tread lightly as if
walking on concrete, barefoot―
to capture the apologetic
colours of rainbow in lake.
A spinning top, he wanted
to float on water and touch
the soft contours in depth―
wrestling with waves.
A dark sky was hovering
around. Something was rising
from the black hills, as if
on fire. I had never seen before―
the golden moon, rising. Two
song birds darting to and fro
as if in great agony to save
the nestlings from the lynx.
Satish Verma, 23 september 2019
Beyond The Stars
Coming from the dark―
to deceptive bloodletting.
The light was my father.
That eternal moment
of pine cone―
to become the third eye.
The ancient memory
becomes vandalized. I
still treat it with respect.
The unclaimed truth was
yours. I wanted to retrieve
the spoken word.
Incongruously brazen
was your thrust, exhorting
me to drown.
Satish Verma, 22 september 2019
By Any Reckoning
A young grasshopper lands
on the paper, I was writing upon,
making a chirping sound―
and starts reading the poem.
It was an exceptional treat
for the eyes. Shutting the storm
window, I will watch the rain―
pounding on the frame,
to recall the visitor―
which was behaving like a
celtic Druid, in meditation, to see
the future of mankind.
Not sure, the bent legs, will
ever lift the body and
propel it to move.
The mayhem was thin, but I
declared― the poetry
was not for insects.
Satish Verma, 21 september 2019
On The Death Of A Friend
Unsung:
how it was, you died
wearing your shoes? The
jesamins will meet you―
in the backyard.
The stains are unwashable;
like pomegranates bursting
open on my chest. The
screams still run after me.
How do I get you midway―
in anonymity. I never wanted
you to go, my make-believer.
It was not homozygosity.
Your face swims like
a dragonfly on the interface
of tears. There was no re-entry
in the frame of life.
Satish Verma, 19 september 2019
Infinity Of Aching
Leaker had started
the invasion of the lake.
The house blinks every night.
Was there any civility
for boats to collect―
the skeletons from the bed?
The dust dances in my
empty home. From where―
the ashes of wounds had come?
There was fear of unknown.
I was afraid of the fear.
I am burning your address.
I see an apparition. A
branded witch. I don't care.
Death was always my friend.
Satish Verma, 18 september 2019
Another Mistake
Training your voice, you
had come around to open―
the door of the miasma.
The departure stretched
very long. Strange blinkers
were holding the light.
A cunning God would
not let you die―
in the trenches of syllables.
The moon would withdraw
from the humming night―
for a face-lifting.
One blind sun, hurts
the path, where I had
laid the marigolds.
Satish Verma, 17 september 2019
It Was No Magic
When you would be absent,
O Druid, I will know you better.
Time leaps my watch―
I have become blind.
It was not enough to
read― that was not written yet.
I am coming down the mountain
to meet the dust.
Life was not very kind to me.
Too much undoings had given
me a white sheet to―
write the names of fugitives.
I sweep the floor, I wash
the black earth and shut―
the windows. Too much knowing
had made me a dwarf.
Satish Verma, 16 september 2019
An Elegy
The abundance spills on my
torn shirt, when I was
gathering your voice.
The affiliated sore
begins to fester in your face―
after flying a kite.
It blurs, when you give
a speech, manipulating the lives
of innocent bystanders.
When you were heaving the numbers,
I was holding on the poems, like coins
not your paper thoughts.
Being blind was not becoming
a Buddha in the garden.
Suicides were increasing every day.
Latest comments:
14 october 2024
jeśli tylko
każdym okiem można inaczej..
14 october 2024
pięknie :)
14 october 2024
os kropki do pointylizmu..
13 october 2024
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.
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