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poetry
Satish Verma, 25 july 2019
Self-Effacement
Gender―
was becoming unborn, ―
untaught. Very fluid state.
You could transgress the boundaries
like the sea spreading over,
on your land.
My ankles giveaway. I cannot―
walk incognito. Moon will
not open the door. Nightshade welcomes
with open arms. A climber
with purple flower holds my hand.
I may stumble. Almost done―
disconnecting with present―
and past.
This is the sun. This is the
sky. Circumcising becomes an
escape, to cut off the bondage with yourself.
Satish Verma, 24 july 2019
What Hospice
Becoming unsteady
at points of darkness.
Tinged with blue
I am ready for the unspoken departure.
How to reach out―
for a situation, which was not?
You sleep on the floor
to hear the earth’s agony.
A helix― surrounds the
imperfect creation of unsavory thoughts.
Abusive was the creator,
The evil had a beauty in destruction.
Satish Verma, 23 july 2019
The Daphnia
The truth of my blood
at the mensal
without prayer and anguish.
Will you be able to
heal the rift between color
and smell?
The other face―
offering the tears in
cupped palm.
The slant eyes will
never know, the end of―
the day under the shadows.
The endemic fugue―
tilts the balance of angels.
The bay tree sends the condolence.
Satish Verma, 22 july 2019
The Rarest Thing
The night watchman
has become an etcher.
The stoning of the shirt
must stop. These moments were the
real sinners/beating the moon.
A simple story becomes an epic.
The belly buttons start
stammering. Meaning did not take a bath.
Canaries have gone on a strike.
They will not sing on the edge of night.
An oil painting walks out of the canvas―
to become a parable.
The creator of this art
was done.
Satish Verma, 21 july 2019
An Awakening
Profiling the flaws
after the ignition, starts
the outrage.
A stoic will assume a
secret. The mute testimony
against my naked walls.
Your gifts are lying unseen,
unused. I have gone, O tormentor―
beyond your reach.
When you would try
to annihilate the vision, I will
check the bleed of eyes.
If the bell rings;
somebody will arrange the table
for anaesthesia.
Satish Verma, 20 july 2019
Cracked Open
Living my own way
like flint,
you will not read
my cosmology.
We two, keep quiet in―
the same book― I
want to read some
hidden message from you.
A day slips into night.
What a consumption of will.
The train stops at the terminus―
without a traveler.
Stepping out, from the
grave of body― you will throw
a reflection, of the nerves,
in a wreath.
Satish Verma, 19 july 2019
The Benevolence
Borderless pain was
said untold. I am writing
a new chapter of night.
The somatic scent―
does not rise now, for the peaks
dissecting the snowy falls.
Racial climbdown
brings friction amids the uniqueness
of downtrodden dolls.
There was an intense―
urge to rip open the endless sky―
to find the secret of blackness.
The fabled light,
fails to distinguish between
eyes and ears. A blind man
will not find the shape
of truth by noises.
Satish Verma, 18 july 2019
Skirting The Book
This was man made,
the blue-chip―
changing the landscape.
Fanatically you cling to mother
terra firma like a baby primate.
Incontrovertibly―
I am going back to look
like my fathers,
with twisted contours.
Forward― facing, but looking behind.
I climb up the blue,
to unsolve the murder and go
into deep meditation to reject
the gods. The gold mine was flooded
by unprecdented rains of hands and footsteps.
Satish Verma, 17 july 2019
A Space, A Dot, A Line
The hesitant―
dawn cracks, as the
river of darkness squirms.
The moon―
was in last, to leave
the howling bank.
It looms large, a ―
brain-dead future. I think
I am forgetting my age.
You must face the
dying earth― sustained―
on prayers only.
This is the height
of dilemma. Why―
poems were hungry?
Satish Verma, 16 july 2019
Through The Ashes
Outside, a discreet moon
was rising, breathing―
dark. I was wary of strange clouds
of unknown scents.
Like a blue absence of nothing,
from nothing to emptiness.
The religion of unspoken
prayers― I start the journey,
to void. From there a turbulence will begin.
Blinking eyes― will find
the answer to a no-question, at
the end of the conflict―
when the face is lost to sadness.
You will not take off
your shoes.
Latest comments:
30 june 2025
violetta
Moja siostra jest teraz na Korfu :) piękny wiersz:)
30 june 2025
Niezmiernie cieszę się:)
30 june 2025
Tak i są przeróżne:)
30 june 2025
ajw
Uwielbiam tę ulotność chwili..
29 june 2025
Jaga
Strach na postrach, a dlaczego?/ wróbel na pszenicy
29 june 2025
sam53
na jednym drzewie bardzo słodkie, a te późniejsze
29 june 2025
Podziękowanie to mało, ale dziękuję :)))
29 june 2025
Wokół kręgu :)
29 june 2025
Słoneczniki już kwitną :)
29 june 2025
A czereśnie wyjątkowo słodkie tego lata.
29 june 2025
Przepiękny wiersz, miło się czyta Twoje romantyzmy.
29 june 2025
Taka upór jest w wierszu:)
30 june 2025
wiesiek
29 june 2025
wiesiek
27 june 2025
Jaga
26 june 2025
Atanazy Pernat
26 june 2025
Atanazy Pernat
23 june 2025
ajw
21 june 2025
Jaga
21 june 2025
wiesiek
18 june 2025
Jaga
16 june 2025
wiesiek