Latest items:

poetry

Satish Verma, 20 may 2022

Lapsed Memories

Can you foresee the
future, the unstable peak, the
ground's underneath tremble?

A lonely moon sits on
the palm― watching the risqué
world go to long sleep.

I am nowhere in
this crazy― maddening race of
musical chairs.

Unsure, I meet the
blue eyes of the lake, ready to
jump into my leaky boat.

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Satish Verma, 18 may 2022

Where Three Rivers Meet

Homeless, you
remained on the
wrong side of moon.

Trying to steal
yourself from light.

Now money speaks,
undoing Fabian formula.

Why one should exit
from the cabal of choosers?
Your infirmity will
sink you in wet sands.

When salvias were blooming,
you wanted to become
an accomplice of a sage.
Killing without crime.

Sometimes you fill
your life with meaningless words.
A trivia of hurting others.

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Marek Gajowniczek, 17 may 2022

Bez morału

Szykowały mnie na wojnę
przez trzy czwarte wieku
doniesienia niespokojne -
nurt głównego ścieku.
.
Planowano i ćwiczono
ataki jądrowe.
Jedyną były obroną
salwy odwetowe.
.
Sojusznicy - przeciwnicy
wzajemnie się bali.
Nie liczył się głos ulicy
i nerwy ze stali.
.
Grzały się linie gorące
wielkiej polityki.
Przykładano palce drżące
w czerwone guziki.
.
Wszystko strachem się kończyło
i porozumieniem,
bo tych bomb już by starczyło
by odpalić Ziemię!
.
Świat nie poszedł jednak dalej -
po rozum do głowy.
Mocarstwa odurzył szalej
wojen hybrydowych.
.
Musiała się taka zdarzyć,
co przesłania inne
i możemy się oparzyć
dmuchając na zimne.
.
Tylko słowo nam zostało
niewiele znaczące
i stąd prognoz opieszałość
z początkiem i końcem.

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Satish Verma, 15 may 2022

Renewal Of Faith

At middle of nowhere
I don't want to believe
in your truth.

In white robes
a crowd, like mushrooms
of same genes, raising their
heads, after paying obeisance to
mother's mausoleum.

It was still a face
of terror, my trampled
future in our nemesis.

Was it a divine curse?
I remain, who I was. Unscathed
unharmed, after you left
before the knif's plunge.

The alternate damage was
mine. I will bear the asp's
bite in my glory.

Closing the door of
crypt was not my choice.

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Satish Verma, 14 may 2022

Indebted

Hips and the rose hips.
You bite your tongue. Desire
has many connotations.

You always feared
of a free fall. I rise. The
war will continue.

I permit myself
to talk to the waning moon.
The clocks stop taday.

A train whistles by.
The river trembles violently
under the bridge.

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Satish Verma, 12 may 2022

Weird Dreams

Will ask hibiscus―
in twilight, to let moth
live its one night.

*

The bougainvillea
leaves, falling one by one,
always frighten you.

*

Bends like a bow,
the sickle moon, to pick up
its child in water.

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Satish Verma, 11 may 2022

Repealing The Command

Like sheltered, as in fist,
the firefly―
my poem shudders
in your cavernous eyes.

You will not bend down,
to pick up the dropped
coin of moon.

A benign lump
refuses to melt for a
speckled beam of light.

The charred bones
of the burnt-out church,
wait for the second coming.

There was no
curtain drop. Everything
will happen before the weeping grass.

The father and son,
were both guilty― of killing
the mother moth.

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Satish Verma, 10 may 2022

Fantasies

Leaving a bloody trail―
moon jumps into lake in hurry.
Sun knocking on doors.

Existing without
the soul, was a fatal mix
of lips and hamlock.

You write your name
on the decapitated moon
declaring a war.

Fireflies now dip
the sparks in your eyes, which
will become blue poems.

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Satish Verma, 9 may 2022

The Grand Finale

Your night eats the―
umbel of light with curved lips.
What was the ethics―
of this getty image?

Your responses are weak. You
walk in, on unsteady path.
Will not lift the rock from the chest
unlike Sisyphus.

You roll down on lilacs
gnawing at my pain― nibbling
away at my poem. There
is no gender, there was no god.

The spilled milk of moon
now washes the face of night.
I become you in the embrace
of unlimited death.

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Satish Verma, 8 may 2022

No Departures

A massive black hole
devoures the devdasi.
The temple becomes
a cadaver court.

Some say it was
less punishment for the sins
of the pulsar.

The dancing baby
in the womb of rubble
of prayers does not want
to come out.

It was a price of
dying intact.

The incense of screaming
roses blooms. How much
heavy was the wreath?

Overnight the image
was replaced. There was
no spinning wheel. Only
a water cistern.

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10 - 30 - 100

Latest items:

poetry

Lapsed Memories

Where Three Rivers Meet

Bez morału

Renewal Of Faith

Indebted

Weird Dreams

Repealing The Command

Fantasies

The Grand Finale

No Departures

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