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poetry

Satish Verma, 30 november 2015

Body Recomes The Path

Joining the seams for the sake of probity
you opt for the wages of truth.
Staying hungry to read the cosmos,
connecting the meditation to love
denatured. You are afraid of losing
the thread. Memory of infidelity of conceivement.

A vision without the thought
was a consecration
to think or not to think
was a great dilemma.
A backdropp of the prisms
always made you crazy.
Listening without ears,
seeing without eyes
became a brilliant idea.

Children of grief coming through
the open doorways
of mind. Soul mates.
I dream of a desperate ending
of midnight journey into song inviolate.
What if the night ends
without a human face?
Body becomes the path unending.

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Satish Verma, 29 november 2015

Claustrophobia

For a patch of happiness
you rushed into the arms
of clouds. Only to fall back with tears.
The glazing authority of moon
hangs on the poverty of spiked wisdom.
Betrayal is the norm of celestial thinking;
how can you accept a dropp of death?

What is your motive
in watching the pain?
A path, a tunnel,
a precipice. The collage of purity
has the innocence of sorrow.
And truth, sails like a phoenix.
There is complete silence.
The flameless fire collapses
lapping up the anger.

Pouring out all the heart beats,
emptying the mind
darkness lowers the wheels
between muscles and bones.
Your body is eaten half by dusty thoughts.
Claustrophobia chokes the little stanzas
you are afraid, some one cares for you.

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Satish Verma, 28 november 2015

Innocent Was The Betrayal

The rose month is coming
I am not ready to receive the guest.
Mistletoe will takeover
With folded hands wind was blowing
No star accepted the gift
of burning earth.

He walked alone in the ruins
to search the time of rich.
His hunger did not find the bread.

He thought he was good as a bone
in the diet of sunset
on the snurfs of dew.

Innocent was the betrayal
under the sheets.
Pert was the sting.

Myth stumbles out from dead souls
I am walking behind the moon
your hand was on my shoulder.

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Satish Verma, 27 november 2015

House Of Rains

Hold the innocence,
at brink of sliding death.
Formless learning never answers
the questions of life
and truth. A single meaning
connects to unnumbered voices.
Anarchy of rimless vision
flourishes. I trace out
the pink stain of a murder on the sand.

Going beyond the fear
was a sane thought
I was the pain
and I was the truth.
Life presided over
the hyphenated relationship.
What do I do with the broken mirror?
The severed head of sun
trembles in the mid - afternoon.
Light of the east fading?

Cogitating on fear of dying,
In contrast to benevolence
I flung out the pleasure, from window
to find the brokenness of time.
The depression swelters under the doubts.
I want to see the house of rains,
of wounds and your pride.

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Satish Verma, 26 november 2015

Gather The Sun

In the untouchable dream,
night floats tugging at my sleeve
pain moves like a cloud.
My silence swells. A terrified impulse
breaks the window
and lets in the black shadows.
Pulsating noise explains
the human equation. Restless,
all night I give up my body.

The austere immortality
embraces the passion like a blast
I adore the drama,
but agony stops the words.
The earthly pettiness bothers
me. Somewhere the life ends
in nothingness. And sorrow
dictates the heart.
We abandon the paths taken,
walk back to the curtains.

Dying in pieces,
we disintegrate in semi-colons
and when the innocent eyes
seek the beauty of truth,
the life moves on to find
the meaning of bitter triumph.
The green fabric of emotions gets criss-crossed.
I gather the sun in my poems.

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Joe Breunig, 25 november 2015

Poem: Happiness Will Be Realized

I want to journey to a place,
that’s unknown and unfamiliar;
He’ll stop the sense of déjà vu
and nothing can be familiar.

I’d love to get that sensation,
to live without pointing fingers;
when surrounded by holy peace,
I can know His Presence lingers.

Within this blessed serenity,
I’ll find His joy without worries;
Life slows to a Godly pace where
I’m being, not in a hurry…

to escape His magnificence!
Imagine streets without violence,
whereby music fills the air and
sirens are replaced by silence.

There will be no more funerals,
but continued celebrations
of Life and God’s enduring Truth;
we’ll praise- Christ for His Salvation,

The Holy Ghost for His comfort
and the Love of The Great I Am.
Finally, we’ll witness first hand,
grown lions lying down with lambs.

Happiness will be realized
under Heaven’s bright atmosphere;
all pain and suffering is gone,
since our eternal God is here!

No weather forecasts are needed
when perfection is everywhere;
joyful songs of praise fill our ears,
as we rest in His lasting care!

Author notes

Inspired by:
1 Cor 2:9; John 14:27; Phil 4:6-7;
Isa 11:1-6

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.

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Joe Breunig, 25 november 2015

Poem: The Human Condition

Traditions of men get in the way,
while creating an unholy mix-
the Human Condition fails us now,
as our eyes on ourselves are transfixed,
blinded to The Father’s heavenly sway.

When relationships sadly break down,
we’re torn about whom we can still trust-
the Human Condition fails us now,
as we’re held back by our soulish lusts,
blinded to His mercies that abound.

Recurring loops of insanity,
ensure that we won’t find any peace;
contentment remains beyond our grasp
when failing to accept Christ’s release
of Love and staying our humanity.

Author notes

Inspired by:
Mark 7

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.

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Satish Verma, 25 november 2015

Ending Of Time?

The identity moves ahead
of the shadow of truth
I search for the absolute
in vain. Can I remove the emptiness
and talk to myself?
The core feeling is same.
We flow in our own separateness.
I want to outlive my brethren
and eat my death alone.

Mindful I watch the kernel,
swaying tree is silent
I am here due to a fault in the genes.
Grief is not my skull house.
Each night I sleep with dry lips
dreaming a lake.
My pillow floats like a chopped moon.

Silence of anonymity
in the heart of a storm.
It is a curious apparition.
The vibrations of distant whispers
fill up the lungs,
ripping apart the veins.
My inside blood utters
a shrill sob.Where to go?
We cannot return back. Ending of time?

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Satish Verma, 24 november 2015

Passion Is A Hurricane

Ending of the thought
does not bring a lull.
It is a sequel beyond
my reach. An old extrication,
I dig for my roots.
The forgotten names,
the unhealing wounds of a doctrine,
a tiny memory of pulsating embryo,
not yet born!

Fear generates a kill. Ferocious movement
inside the cells slowly,
you become zero without a center.
The tangent skips
on your surface. Claustrophobia.
You start breaking the walls.
Fighting anxiety & shame
a timeless timber without a foliage.

My ignition point is hurt in
the new culture of game.
How we approach the road,
which smells the death,
blood or smoke?
The passion is a hurricane.
Uproots all the bones,
shatters all the roots.
A glory reckons after a while,
for the election of sorrow.

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Satish Verma, 23 november 2015

Singing Dust

Bring out your integrity
genesis is imploding
in the murderous womb.

Multilinear mutinies have started
in red blooms
igniting the sky.

An old woman walks on the street
eating the shadows of sun.
The king will give her a gift of moon.

How the earth has been flattened
by the pawns of Resurrection?
Life has never been the same.

Purely undone for the death
milk of silence in dark.
The cow is sitting on the singing dust.

Fear was not me I was listening
the wheezing sound of changing winds.
The snakes are coming out of the trenches.

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10 - 30 - 100

Latest items:

poetry

Body Recomes The Path

Claustrophobia

Innocent Was The Betrayal

House Of Rains

Gather The Sun

Poem: Happiness Will Be Realized

Poem: The Human Condition

Ending Of Time?

Passion Is A Hurricane

Singing Dust

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