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poetry
kipruto muthemba, 21 june 2019
The Blue Dress
nothing accentuates,
exaggerates and punctuates,
your curvaceous beauty,
and that humongous booty
like that figure-hugging blue dress.
this I must address
and I confess,
that it leaves me delirious,
hypnotized by the mysterious,
marbles it hides underneath so elegantly,
marvels that send stimulating sensual images,
…naughty images! that set my mhogo on fire.
now on you, am stuck like glue,
am now obsessed with blue,
possessed by you,
and wholly yours.
Satish Verma, 21 june 2019
Virtually Untrue
Lethal mix
of blood ties― before
a fugue delivers its tremors.
A rage visits with the dark voices...
Reverberating in death chamber.
Heat seeking― the missile
goes straight into the heart of the Himalayas.
I am still recovering―
from the eternal fires― of biligual nights.
I am transfixed―
in my shoes― facing shoulder
fired― a sentence ejecting its hate.
Satish Verma, 20 june 2019
Change Of Life
Becoming wise to
your faults. I will not wear
any talisman.
No fireworks were needed
to celebrate the return
of the sane fakir.
Standing up― was the biggest
ideal of the oppressed. I
repeat the act.
Taking the helm― without
retribution― was a challenge
thrown by the dark.
I have come to be reborn
in the name of symbols
broken.
Satish Verma, 19 june 2019
No Message
You have kept the
script― to age in dark,
silent night.
Drawn into the upheaval,
of grains―
ready to strike the mouth.
Nameless wheels were out
to carry the gay pride.
I am not amused of the day.
Who was naturally―
born― breathlessly, holding
the flag, to spite the clan.
A pink window was
stolen from the green house.
The light now burns black.
Satish Verma, 18 june 2019
Will You Leave Me?
I did not mean to hurt.
Do not try to flute―
drinking the lianas,
wearing a fatigue. Then comes―
the shoot. Like a scarecrow
I sway― the slug― passes through me.
You ask me to turn over―
the death mask―
giving a smile. There was no
reprisal. Must bring under reins―
the pounding heart― I cannot talk.
Alone to mend my grief, the
scaled loss of bliss. Do not want to
use any metal. Poverty becomes
my strength. Fears will stand with me.
I am empty like a glass.
Satish Verma, 16 june 2019
Scattered Thoughts
Coming to an end the
consecration. The land will
not give you any god.
Only the demons will come in your dreams.
If it were window, the
street will send the black
noises in your house.
I will not wait
for snow-melting.
The slum was going to be
sliced off.
Wet from the rainfall,
the grain cannot be milled
and you will not eat my sprouts.
I cannot sail now.
It must be very dark
and the glossary
very foul.
Satish Verma, 15 june 2019
No Saviour
Out of ambit― you resume
the surfing again― on
yellow tulips―
in misting valley.
One who will not bless
the seed― will sit
in shadow of hunger.
Do not touch the―
impossible blue of the
eyes, unhunted by the tears.
Snare or be snared. If
there was a flint and
the steel― do you think the
spark will be faraway?
In silent night, I will open
the crypt to have a look again―
at the wornout cloak of a paragon.
kipruto muthemba, 14 june 2019
wild night
suddenly a knock,
with soothing intentions
snatches my attention,
from the movies’ detention
to you, standing at my door
deep in the night, i think it was four
breath-taking in your baggy sweat-pant
breathlessly to my feet, erect i rise
ready to devour you to sunrise
so i pull you to me sensually
until am one with you sensuously
so close, i heard the music in your heart
and remembered that you are an art
looking at me, breaking me apart
into parts lost in your beautiful eyes
and the warmth of your faerie touch
stupefied and mightily aroused
i kiss your wet lips, and you taste like heaven
i caress your neck, and am all seven risen
clothes stealthily fall like they harm
but the sounds of the morning alarm
rudely kills our wild night
Satish Verma, 14 june 2019
Self-Portrature
A freak hailstorm of
proposition, makes you―
deaf and mute. The sex
orientation― will not remain the same.
It was not pink― it was not
blue. A thunder breaks the
roof― of calligraphy. A
beautiful face― goes manic.
About the harvesting― I
would say ― it was all
humbug. You can wear a gem
in your eyes― and still not go stone blind.
The prayer will have a
summer wedding. All the―
lavenders will bring all the
blues and all the mauves.
Satish Verma, 13 june 2019
The Dancing Tale
I do not remain happy
with noises of wisdom.
Time was running out on me
to know myself.
No sensory cognizance. I
touch you with my invisible
hands, stroking the hair
to dislodge the moon.
Ashes lay strewn. River
was overflowing from the
banks of limbs. I will not
come near the unfathomable
depth of a chasm, between
good and bad. Out of the bed
of roses a snake uncoils.
Praise the dark. It in night.
Latest comments:
15 october 2024
Yaro
Mam taką wersję. uśmiech rozciąga się od
15 october 2024
APski
zanurzam ciastko w zapachu kawy jak mgnienie
15 october 2024
... dobre wspomnienie uleciało babim latem...
15 october 2024
... wylał się czarnym sumieniem...
15 october 2024
gdy cienie pod łóżkiem dywanem się kładą...
15 october 2024
za każdym razem oślepić wir nocy...
15 october 2024
nie rozpoznaje wczorajszych mgieł
14 october 2024
Ananke
extra, szczególnie początkowe wersy, czytam
14 october 2024
czegoś za mało, albo za dużo, choć jest tu
14 october 2024
wszystko mi się podoba, oprócz : "bramy
14 october 2024
mnóstwo, mnóstwo.....
14 october 2024
tylko...co robiłeś pod mostem ;)
15 october 2024
Satish Verma
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.