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poetry
Satish Verma, 27 may 2019
Walking Small Feet
Distrust prevails.
To be poor. Why did you need
less, than you want?
I will ask me, and get no
answer. Like hedgehog. Spiny
coat. You will not watch―
the thought coming. I do
not move. The dead horse
speaks of moments of stillness.
A perception cleaves the mind.
The world takes revenge
behind the glass. You were―
squirming in the vessel. What
was your name, among the
stumps? A cloudburst, wipes
out the deity. The walls
stand out in the death masks.
Satish Verma, 26 may 2019
A Noble Life
Taking the drugs in heavenly
night. It is very precarious state
to live innocently.
The petals fall on your brows.
You are not ready to meet the stigma.
Pistil was wary of the human touch.
Neoplastic. I wanted a botanical
end. Like evening primrose, a
yellow death facing the sun.
The opal effect. You were changing
colors. A precious sin to become
a saint. Who is going to be a scapegoat?
The bankruptcy. Uncertainty will
overwhelm the haze. Stay indoors.
You will not be able to make a speech.
Satish Verma, 25 may 2019
Sailing On Peaks
The blue veins,
defending brazenly
the pink gloves.
Unwedded to moon,
I become sick
of hypocricy of hands.
As the boulders slide
on chest, to unbring the infancy
of snowfall. I put my shovel down.
Was it too early to start
the game pf ravishing
the temple of stains?
Looking at the pillars
that would not hold the
ceiling, inviting the moment’s eternity.
Satish Verma, 22 may 2019
Battered Faith
Deserting a shrine, in the swirling
waters, I move, unbuilding
a path, under the shade of the moon. the
sprawling village has been swept off/and
so were the ponyriders;
a lifeless symphony of howling winds/
scatters the silence.
I step forward to meet the vapors
of after death./The souls are dead/
and the ghosts are walking in dark.
No ignition was left to recognize the faces.
No god was seen nearby.
I am at loss to make the return journey.
A boulder as big as the temple/
obstructs the view. There are moaning
voices/coming from under the sunk
houses. Why won’t the unseen hands/build
up a bridge. I eat your words
and go in trance.
Where are the bottle’s jinnees now?
Satish Verma, 21 may 2019
Karyotyping
A dark secret
of double standard,
releases the hidden forces.
You must
bend backward to walk.
This was the rape of surrender.
The art of dodging,
the decoy effect.
You choose the ultimate hypocrisy.
You do not confirm
the rage of shirtless.
A name goes begging for the figures.
Shrine in mud,
will give you a final call
before starting the builddown.
Satish Verma, 20 may 2019
Returning Your Message
Don’t let me go.
over the cork, a bottle
fights for the fluids
to flow out.
No apology to
feel you. There was
no death in the night.
A sun lies down beside me.
The flesh was disappearing.
A blue star alights,
to make a landmark
for the climbers.
No regrets
for the crunch of dry leaves
when you walk on the
grave of the witch doctor.
Satish Verma, 19 may 2019
Reverberations
Since my ash has
blown in your mirror
I am warming up to your surrogacy.
Too much deep,
expansive cleavage. I am climbing
down a canyon.
The phoenix:
finds the water―
in your eyes.
Writes a funeral.
No punctuation, the
unwritten poet,
will not last the night.
I am spelling out
the grief of the lonely man on
the deserted road, talking
incoherently.
Satish Verma, 18 may 2019
No Snobbery
Talk of politics,
and the auction begins.
Every rock has a price.
The marble will fetch more flesh.
The granite breaks below
your eyes. I limit the tears.
No time left for complaints.
I am ready for the good –bye.
Will you meet me beyond
the space, faraway in void?
No words will follow me
I am going unwritten.
No profile, no editing.
A bloom will pop up, from
below the fallen tree.
Satish Verma, 17 may 2019
Prophesying
The shovel
moves the wet earth
noiselessly.
Your path goes to dark,
in the jungle fire
through Sunset Boulevard.
Father of my father
used to drink a pitcher, of black tea, daily,
to stay alert.
He would tell me,
“Do what you wanted to do.”
The rain will not stop
for sometime. Why don’t
you go to sleep?
The fury of the
flood, will not break
the pride of an oracle.
Satish Verma, 16 may 2019
Always A Thunder
The nightingale was
very sad. Nobody
was taking a call.
*
A scream would
go unheard, when
the floodgates are opened.
*
The snake will not
change the color. It
will watch the Noah.
Latest comments:
15 october 2024
sam53
pomyślę nad wersją bez Niemiec i Portugalii...
15 october 2024
dokładnie, a później płacze się po kątach,
15 october 2024
białko,,, tylko białko się liczy... no może
15 october 2024
violetta
Słodki :)
15 october 2024
Oj tak :)
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
15 october 2024
wiesiek
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