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poetry
Esther Hadassah Sendeza, 19 august 2019
Lost
I will not be lost
Not in the world and it's ways,
Not in the darkness that comes my way,
Not in the depths of my own mind,
Not in the disappointments,
Not in the failures,
Not in the success.
I choose to be grounded,
I choose to rise above,
I choose to pick myself up,
I choose to forgive,
I choose to try again,
I will not cave, I will not break,
I choose love.
See, I choose to still be me,
Whatever the experience.
Even when surrounded by dark waters,
My beautiful colours will still shine.
I will not get lost,
Not in this world,
Not in the next.
Satish Verma, 19 august 2019
Taking The Odds
An amniotic fluid initiates
the moon to the thunderstorm―
as you climb the tide.
Like a stag― opening the
summer, browsing on
the daisies.
It takes sometime
to sink. This was―
the peacock hour.
A finch will land―
on my shoulder and
look into my eyes, ritualizing it.
The glow was real
in your hair,
borrowed from the sun.
Satish Verma, 18 august 2019
New Invasion
Nestling in the arms of
blue sky, a young moon was asking
the questions―like the pages of moth-eaten
book― why did the blood ties
are ripped apart with the passage of time?
Of the same poles, at the
axis of rotation― two celestial bodies―
would not come near each other?
Following the heels of the
hunter, a small dog star sniffs at
the earth, a pale blue existence?
The entropion overwhelms. The
lashes were scarring the
vision?
The all was not one. I am
still standing at the gate,
bleeding like sun.
Satish Verma, 17 august 2019
Old Maxims
This was a twisted ladder
for reduction of poverty,
which climbs the steps during
methane breach.
An absent presence will
snatch away, your unconscious
surrender. The scent had
made a wall of its own.
A summer fall incites the
book makers. The naming was
a secret bet. The dead will
never recall the skeletons.
Spawning an army of robots,
will you go to the volcano mount
to offer a living bait?
Satish Verma, 16 august 2019
No Demagogue
This was not a witch
or witchcraft, striking
a pose to entice the sleep.
The grass will not―
listen the earthly
eavesdropping on moon.
Some extra neutral
wine for a resilient poet
who will refuse to die.
My color was not black
nor white. It had the
golden hue.
Your nails were very sharp
digging for a *Digambra
on my bare chest.
Satish Verma, 15 august 2019
Dog Days
Why do I give you the bliss―
of my poverty?
The burden of asking, was light.
Not like the unquenchable
thirst of a desert. I will be a
night blooming cereus.
In exile, I will remember
your sky, tying the stars in
my poems, to recall your shades
when the moon moves away.
The sunlight throws the voiceless
profiles of clouds, motionless
suspended, waterless― dead.
There is no traffic, no history
of any scandles. The corners of
my prayer book have―
become dog-eared.
Satish Verma, 14 august 2019
Sting's Betrayal
Not settled anytime
between a beast, an angel and the man:
who was indebted to whom.
A cyclic ritual it was, to pay the debt
to the eternal dancer, who
was, harbinger to catastrophe.
Not wanted to be judged.
Fatherless, a shadow moves―
in the womb of justice.
Why do the moon was in distress?
A catmint will improve―
your vision.
No artificial insemination was―
needed. The pungent smell
would put you off.
A taste of triangle, lying
next to the moon
in bed of water.
Satish Verma, 13 august 2019
A Fracas Goes On
Remarkably steadfast, the
mighty oak was standing up, as
the thick rain was pounding at it.
I had come a faraway to unleash
the tenacity.
The flesh and the moon.
It was the anniversary of ropes
and shackles. You should not have
adored the distant dreams
without touching them. The transcript
was not ready. No template
was perfect.
I would not know most of you.
That was a bliss. In blue and dark―
I will sail for nothingness. No more,
no less. The chirping, synchronized trill
of crickets, encourages to stand still, I listen
without hearing.
I have come back to zero.
Satish Verma, 12 august 2019
Sheer Expanse Of Tragedy
Staring into nothingness―
the body clicks.
Smells the pungent fumes and/
cedes the suspension of tears.
Quenchless, you drink
the white phosphorus, glowing
in dark, of
stark reality.
The barrenness will put
up a Harappan seal,
to come back.
The stomata bleed.
The blue salt was naïve.
Will not leave the ocean.
You cannot swim,
you cannot drown.
Satish Verma, 11 august 2019
Frost Was Setting In
No moon tonight
I had to find―
my path along the hedges
by fireflies.
The river was in haze,
not wearing any scent.
Some invisible hands were
rowing a boat in midstream.
At this time a god jumps―
in, to sort out the memory of dark nights.
Not dementia. But I will
try to remember your face in moonlight.
Once I had lost my way
to your home. Now my
home has lost me for ever.
Latest comments:
14 october 2024
Jaga
Ach, siódme niebo jesienne/ nocą zorzą malowane/
14 october 2024
Belamonte/Senograsta
od szczegółu do ogółu, od ogółu do szczegółu
14 october 2024
hm, przemyślenia to wymaga, Koranu poczytania.
14 october 2024
sam53
każdymi odwiedzinami ... :)))
14 october 2024
dziękuję ślicznie.... takie słowo będzie
14 october 2024
violetta
Jakiś duszek się zaplątał:)
14 october 2024
Eva T.
A tak. :)
14 october 2024
:)
14 october 2024
Blado liliowe - piekne. Bardzo lubie. :)
14 october 2024
W duzej donicy tez nie?
14 october 2024
Przypadkowo spotkane :)
14 october 2024
jeśli tylko
każdym okiem można inaczej..
14 october 2024
Jaga
14 october 2024
wiesiek
14 october 2024
Eva T.
13 october 2024
Satish Verma
12 october 2024
Satish Verma
11 october 2024
Satish Verma
10 october 2024
wiesiek
10 october 2024
Jaga
10 october 2024
Eva T.
10 october 2024
Satish Verma