Latest items:
Satish Verma, 1 february 2021
Afloat In Words
Would not move the things.
They had moved me.
I will never be the same.
Probably a time to learn,
listening to yourself. The
sensors didn't go wrong.
More often I will unroll
my candles and burn
them with my life.
Ripening old, in dry
fountains- waiting for
rains in songs of sorrow.
History does not repeat.
I am preparing myself
to start again writing my book.
Will not commit anything.
Standing in morgue
searching for my unclaimed face.
Satish Verma, 31 january 2021
Afloat In Words
Would not move the things.
They had moved me.
I will never be the same.
Probably a time to learn,
listening to yourself. The
sensors didn't go wrong.
More often I will unroll
my candles and burn
them with my life.
Ripening old, in dry
fountains― waiting for
rains in songs of sorrow.
History does not repeat.
I am preparing myself
to start again writing my book.
Will not commit anything.
Standing in morgue
searching for my unclaimed face.
Satish Verma, 30 january 2021
Taking A Form
Like a falcon
you dive with a notched nose.
There was an element
of absurd in your style.
Crushed under snow,
I would search my lost
shoes. The spirit to move on
wakes me up again.
The pursuit of perfect
truth in jungle of fake
excuses. I was wary
of animal grins.
Thugs, they have become
the stewards. Life was mystery.
Death sorts out the secret
of undying passions.
Satish Verma, 28 january 2021
Autodidact
Will not donate
my bloodstained shirt.
It divides the cuffs.
The alphabet turns
around to watch the fall
of syntax.
Everynight I wait
for the moon to rise
from the crescent of golden eyes―
for another encounter
with a god, who
would not listen to soliloquy
of a rich begger―
sitting in the ruins of a temple,
he built of dreams.
Satish Verma, 27 january 2021
Color And Shades Of Punta Cana
1.
Memories on edge
one after the other―
salted, dried and smoked.
On green sea―
in a sail boat.
You do not know, where to go.
Hot and humid night.
Half moon, sitting
on a royal palm.
2.
A violent sun
was rising. Knocking down
the unending music of night.
The purple flight
of fish, clams and crabs,
overrides. Tomorrow they would be
on table and white sand in your eyes.
The waves, come one by one.
To die on the receding shore.
Your hands tremble, holding the sea.
3.
China rose. Evergreen.
You will find its glory
petal by petal
at every step.
On a tropical beach―
at sensual dawn.
You come out
to pick up the poems.
Love is the arrival of carnations.
Do you mind the nameless pain,
When you walk Matilda?
4.
Earth breaks here
into palms, like spread hands
and hibiscus blooms.
I find the red lips
on burning globes.
of honeysuckle shades―
the sand, sky and moon.
They will meet tonight
at beach for parting kisses.
5.
Something climbs your bones
like an invisible wave
of primeval lust.
A blood feel―
from the pricks of Duranta,
the secret of land's native instinct.
6.
It falls like a quivering leaf:
the sultry night.
A salty wind slaps and tickles.
Walking under the royal
palms, escorted by
lined cycads.
Full moon hangs
overhead, watching the sensual
dance of light and shadows.
7.
The absolute stillness,
hisses. A vicious assault.
Your hands fly to ward off the evil.
A savage storm
of whirling thoughts―
uprooting the dream of wholeness.
8.
I spread rose petals
on your frame.
You smell―
like a garden.
Around the moons
I will draw the Caribbean sea
with a roving eye.
The lush green, your body
of domes and hairless seeds.
Skin starts burning like a peach.
9.
The flames
now leap. Sabotaging the surging blood.
A subtle and delicate presence begins.
The ism has a silent
fall. You can hear the turbulence
before the poem is born.
10.
The age
unwraps you.
Listening to the sounds of sea.
You are ready to face the ageless.
Time takes its
pound of flesh.
You bleed in grass.
Wind smears the pages with dust.
You were writing―
in praise of absence.
And when the full moon
gives a call, you
become speechless.
I have lost my home
again.
Satish Verma, 26 january 2021
The Thick Skins
Anointed truth
had no path. Path
was the truth.
Not a play of
emotions. I am talking
about the transparent
leaves pressed in the books
of fake religions.
When there were
fireflies, you deleted the rains
and sapwood saved
the lip's blues.
You rolled around
the burning pyre. Flames were
embracing the dark lies,
about the brailled poems.
Perfectly in harmony,
Bach was being played by
a blind artist. Did you know it?
ShareShare The Thick Skins
Satish Verma, 25 january 2021
Lake Huron On 4th July
Sun breaks
on green lake―
into myriad of white birds,
fluttering their wings.
In wet grass
you sink, inviting the black clouds,
to hear the echoes.
You follow the sunset
in a glass of wine,
to become complete again.
Satish Verma, 24 january 2021
Gracefully
A lake walk,
in the forest of limbs.
Like the blind man said,
I can hear the truth.
It was more of a ritual
to sit in intense moonlight
when seagulls were stealing the sky…
And you will belong-
to the darkness, of unknowing-
self.
Knowing the inevitable end,
that will come, uninvited.
Satish Verma, 23 january 2021
Grafting The Lichens
We are going back.
Let it be.
I will never know―
when will you arrive.
In the aloneness,
going blind to the playing
light, you prepare to drink
the darkness of noon.
Becoming dishonest will
not be possible for me.
The times are revengeful,
come back in black to fix the smiles.
Like water hyacinth, the
disquieting worries will grab
you and hound you to the white bones
and turn away.
Where the blood and
nerves went down? It was
no sin to rise and
stand against the sun.
ShareShare Grafting The Lichens
Satish Verma, 22 january 2021
Unknowing The Real
The founder will not find
the copper to cast the history.
It has not begun to hear
the farewell to summer.
Arms were coming out
to end the war, to seal the fractures.
Not my pen, not my tongue
will know the secret deals.
Frontiers are being redrawn,
between the guns and the books.
Latest comments:
13 october 2024
jeśli tylko
klaskanie jedną ręką
12 october 2024
Weronika
Dialog jednej osoby.
12 october 2024
Belamonte/Senograsta
no, też tak mam, nie wiem co się porobiło,
12 october 2024
prawie wszystkie wiersze są o przyrodzie
12 october 2024
tyle się o niej mówi, a dziwi, że przyszła..
12 october 2024
Nie da się ich hodować na balkonie :)
12 october 2024
takie mam blado liliowe, chłodne. Ale kwitną
12 october 2024
tak proste a plastyczne :)
12 october 2024
jest klimat :)
11 october 2024
to ciekawe, to może piszesz programy dla szkół?
11 october 2024
Dziękuję, widzę że nie wiem co z tego co
11 october 2024
sam53
jesień tak ma... :)))
13 october 2024
wiesiek
13 october 2024
Satish Verma
12 october 2024
wiesiek
12 october 2024
Satish Verma
11 october 2024
wiesiek
11 october 2024
Satish Verma
10 october 2024
wiesiek
10 october 2024
Jaga
10 october 2024
Eva T.
10 october 2024
Satish Verma