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poetry

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 24 june 2022

With Paper Frills

Touching your
glacier lips with my poems.
A splinter thought
has hogged the center stage.

There was a double
meaning in relaxed posture
of rebellion. Doves of peace
were not visible as yet.

The poverty of freedom
to defend the talent of embracing
death without bullets of shame.

Stones in limelight, left
and right, hitting the walls
of silence. The fat people with
golden hair will decide the hard core burns.

All night, I was
changing sides. Moon was
sending the messages in gaping holes.

Let the skin of hands,
hang like salt-and-pepper!

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 23 june 2022

To Be Human

Not thinking of you
in vacant mood.
Sometimes you want to put
questions to yourself.

Touching the bruises, like
a lover, not to feel the pain. You
want to wipe out the hurts,
trespassing the area of darkness.

Changing the script, you want
to etch out your name―
on the trunk of a fig tree. Under which
a Buddha wanted to meditate, but did not.

The hands print will tell the tale
of a masterpiece built by them after which
they were chopped off.

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Yaro

Yaro, 21 june 2022

manowce

zaciśnięta pętla trzaska o gałęzie
zwisa sznur swobodnie się porusza
ucieczka przed wiatrem bezsensowne
stwierdził ktoś kto otarł się o śmierć

czego oczekuje człowiek próżny
wszystkiego w bród chciwość
niszczy pokolenia zachłanne

ucieczka przed rozłożeniem skrzydeł
wiatr rozwiewa włosy w kolorze
czasem wystarczy tylko tyle

zanurzą myśli niezbadane
w przypadku braku tolerancji
na tłum u stalowych bram

rzeka wyszła z koryta
czystą ma twarz
obmytą bystrą wodą

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 june 2022

How To Proceed

Opening night's silk,
remembering you, under moon―
walking on wet grass.

You were not fake in
a crowd of naked fakirs,
taking bath in sun.

The truth must come out
to face the mother tongue,
when god was killed.

Where it hurts, the shoe's
nail. Prodigal son was blind.
Did not read the road.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 june 2022

In Terrible Times

Poetry stares, unblinkingly,
in dilemma―
at mindless extremism.
Evolution of words,
was going retrograde.

Your pretty face―
needs dusting. I was
curious to know about the story
of night shifts.

Sometimes I am hit―
by your feline grace to go for
immolation of male chauvinism.

You erect the barriers,
so that I won't
reach your lips. The moon
went laughing whole night.

A slow poison, like
hemlock, you drink the hurts
to stay alive in a wax house.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 june 2022

Flowery Path

I will return you
to yourself in the twilight
of waning moon.

No more we will speak
in dark, to read the message
of holy night in pain.

A long way to reach
you in misty thoughts after the
priest breaks the vowels.

Something was certainly
wrong. Coffin was on way to
pick up the vessel.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 16 june 2022

Pragmatically

I will not have any
alliance with your words
I am lost in wordless thoughts.

Ask the dead phrases―
you repeat often. Like evil hydra,
new heads come out daily.

This is my domain, my
battlefield. The letters do not
take any shape. Dots speak.

I love the statue
of laughing Buddha. Melting
the pods of transmission.

You know that, you do not want to say.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 15 june 2022

Mystic Paths

In alternative lies,
a which-hunt starts―
to find the blue eyes trapped
in amber.

Who will ask, not to
dig in the land of suicides,
without boundaries?

Behind you, were hidden the
rocks. The thin-lipped screams
would not reach the nests.

The color fades, when you move
in the sun. Survey
was futile for another truth.

Courier was walking limp.
Cherries were withering in moon.

Bare-foot a journey starts to collect
the salt of eyes.

In the crowd of swans― nobody
has found the water.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 14 june 2022

Smoking Candles

Soundlessly steps move, in
midmoon― deleting trust.
Now I am the time.

You left your guitar
on the moving sands of beach.
Waves pick up the song.

Watching a seagull―
wolfing out from eye socket,
of a sinking fish.

A gift from a barbie
doll of tanned skin in nun's garb.
Please stand in hot sun.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 13 june 2022

You Don't Tell Me

How much to live
for you in different ways
becoming just me.

My grief mixes with
the clouds to rain on the
wings of songs.

Chenille. Like lifting
your memories
with beautiful metaphors.

Nonverbally the words
fall on the roses,
without any cause.

I bring back the moons.

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