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poetry
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.
Satish Verma, 12 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.
Satish Verma, 10 june 2019
Unbegotten
Shedding the knowledge
I was aware of emptiness,
that will allow me
to watch from afar―
the message coming from
the locked doors.
Getting nearer the gorge
you want to look at your spitting image―
in water. I hinge an old frame
to find me in baby face. Did you
see your future visits to
cauldron of life?
You never wanted to become
a god of wayfarers. A tinge
of stupidity was evident to renew
your faults to remain human.
Satish Verma, 9 june 2019
Rising Rage
After the blast, the
morning gets wise, and
does not spill the sun.
And the dead will not
come back to celebrate
the dark after the rage.
There, on the white peaks,
the splattered blood will
draw the face of assassin.
Do not enter the dome of
seething screams. The priest
hangs by the bell.
O, my brother, why we
have become coldblooded after
thousand years of pilgrimage?
Satish Verma, 8 june 2019
No Love Song
In black midnight,
the white moon, like a nun
sits stonely.
The sliding moon is toxic
and you are not ready to
die for the theme.
The high priests will
weave the faux mantras to
invoke the goddess of wealth.
The debt pervades in every
relief. I survive the ignominy
of not touching a yogi.
And you, little brown bread,
will not feed the thousands
who come clamouring for a bite.
Satish Verma, 7 june 2019
After The Snow Storm
It tumbles down. The real.
Heels start hurting.
Once upon a night, there
was a red moon, which used to hang
on your head and I
would watch something beyond.
No outburst of profanity
will take place, when you were
dissecting a triangle―
of rainbows. I will not
assemble the waist of a tall tree
after the fruit fall.
Gone with the snow, my
temple, my god. I am now
waiting for the looters of rings.
Jonathan Davidoff Behavio, 6 june 2019
miles to close
U can sleep like a baby
I like to see you when you closing your eyes
So quiet you starting dreaming.
I above your breath touching your hairs,
So smooth and soft.
You are so perfect I thing...
When you lie to me again,
When you know I dont dream,
Giving me shit another time and fuck me over.
And I love to hear this silence,
No lies and no hate.
Touching your skin, kissing your chick.
To far to your soul, to close to my faith.
Latest comments:
5 july 2025
violetta
Zarosłam myślami:)
5 july 2025
jeśli tylko
lubię do Ciebie zaglądać, Ewuś :)
5 july 2025
wicewersja..
5 july 2025
chabry i kąkole..
5 july 2025
Belamonte/Senograsta
och rany, czuje sie jak na działce, tyle tej
5 july 2025
można powiedzieć spokojne.. można..
5 july 2025
dziękuję :) jedne są na jasnej glinie, drugie
5 july 2025
Jak wiatraki
5 july 2025
Piękności
5 july 2025
Ach piękne dni:)
5 july 2025
Fajna opowieść jak z życia:)
5 july 2025
Ja nie zwracam na to uwagę;)
5 july 2025
wiesiek
5 july 2025
jeśli tylko
4 july 2025
Jaga
4 july 2025
wiesiek
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wiesiek
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Atanazy Pernat
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ajw