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poetry
Satish Verma, 21 april 2019
The Time
There was a lapse
before the fall of moon.
I am standing in dark.
A wolf a day was
enough to eat me. The digital
pain seeps in the
sad ceremony.
Someone buries
the hatchet in stars far away,
wearing the black mask.
I steal your poeny.
Your velvety voice for the
sake of wronged yellow.
A candle burns
in the white room, bereft
of any trappings.
Satish Verma, 20 april 2019
Fake Encounters
When the surveillance increased,
the curtains started
falling. You were ready to
start the dialogue with death
holding off your hunger.
Each face had its history
scripted on the forehead. Dark is
after all dark. You unroll
the night-black lace and
confront the moon.
Under the old banyan tree
a dream lies with limbs tied.
A mob smears the vermillion on its body
and then starts lynching it.
I have only one question.
Why were we towed on
wrong leads for tallest peak?
Satish Verma, 19 april 2019
Not Invoking
This attitude rattles
me. Silence has―
become very vocal.
The body does not listen
now. A knife
has become celibate.
The unsung hero was
untainted and pure.
It was the veil, which was corrupt.
Are you ready for
the hang? The wrists cut
open were not bleeding.
The jewel of the fire
does not burn. Even the
purple hemlock is very sweet.
Satish Verma, 18 april 2019
Fangs Open
Aghast at the―
burning brutality and domination
of the glaring sun, I will
ask the moon, when will
it release the hormones.
A palm size,
unscripted poem, struggles
to come on the surface;
pulled between the moon
and the sea.
The libidinal instinct,
overtakes the activist. A newly
minted face throws the shadow;
equivocal. The traffic of
poppies will freeze in the tracks.
Here are the keys and
there were the locks.
Satish Verma, 17 april 2019
Exasperation
Even the tree enters its shade.
It was very hot this
summer, while walking in moon.
*
Sleeping under the cacti
and talking to God. Do you
know the ecstasy of pricks?
*
This was my total wealth,
the verses. I cannot spend on you,
Oh my god, what an idea?
Satish Verma, 16 april 2019
Caged Bird
Penchant for bats. Always
nocturnal./ Sustained flight.
Eyes piercing./ Incisors ready to
dig in you with anticoagulant saliva.
Your echolocation will attract
more suicides./ Don’t write
poems about leitmotivs.
I will say.
An imaginary withdrawl.
I am no more in your eyes. A sheep
jumps from the cliff.
You start a bonfire / of all your wins
as a signal. The immaculate dawn rising.
Killing me.
Satish Verma, 14 april 2019
Scalding Me
A lamplit page
that smells your body.
I still remember the
cajoling maneuver to give
me a spin.
Oysters. They were crawling
to eject the pearls. And
spiders weaving a net
to trap my thoughts. A
fly lands in the labyrinth.
War of attrition. A tremor
shakes the pillars. Moments
of disintegration. The fragments
throw the footprints in
your hands.
You cannot write your
name on your book.
Satish Verma, 13 april 2019
The Vinegar Test
Loading the twin calyculi
at the dawn. Cotton grass
will get an―
extortionate price.
Silence was dead.
And as were the protests
of levitating poppies.
Chasing a colored storm
becomes a craze, these days.
Bystanders will witness
the fall of blue night.
You want to unfollow
the begonias now, cultivating
the unkissed music on the
lips of swaying reeds.
Satish Verma, 12 april 2019
Between The Accidents
After the ammonia leak,
there was a visual hallucination.
An ad hoc proxy of stardust
will not settle on the lotus.
I grieve for the sobbing moon
who was kept waiting to―
wash the feet of a sunken god.
There were no wreaths for the departed.
Death had a debt to pay,
to a hungry child, who was
given a chance to see the light,
but was not fed by the night.
To perpetuate the crime, there
was a syndicate, who would bet
for the nested game, in lieu,
of wiping the green tears of earth.
Satish Verma, 11 april 2019
No Hatred
Step aside.
Tension of mining gold
barrels through
mating preference.
The shadows under the
eyes were lengthening.
A childhood alley had―
the cul-de-sac.
A face trembles in your
hands when you kiss
the tears of a melting peak.
The body collects the honey.
A sleeping moon drifts
like a fallen virgin,
covering the face in the headscarf
of brazen clouds.
Latest comments:
25 december 2025
violetta
Ładnie powieszone :)
24 december 2025
Toya
Przepiękny wiersz. Czytam sobie poprzez pryzmat
24 december 2025
Jaga
I Tobie Sam, wszystkiego dobrego, nie tylko od
24 december 2025
sam53
a propos miodu... smacznego piernika i innych
24 december 2025
staram się :))
23 december 2025
Umiesz malować, słowami :)
23 december 2025
Momencik Zimo! Rękawice musze sobie kupić,
23 december 2025
gdybym umiał malować byłoby jeszcze piękniej
23 december 2025
Pięknie było :)
23 december 2025
Weronika
Jeszcze się spotkamy.
23 december 2025
Dziękuję Evo :)
23 december 2025
Staram się Jeślinko :) Dziękuję :)
25 december 2025
wiesiek
24 december 2025
wiesiek
23 december 2025
wiesiek
22 december 2025
Eva T.
20 december 2025
Anthony DiMichele
19 december 2025
wiesiek
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Jaga
19 december 2025
steve
19 december 2025
steve
15 december 2025
Jaga