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Satish Verma, 22 november 2020
The Face In Flames
Salt-of-the lips.
You never know, how it hurts
the bigotry.
It was not the might
of divinity, when you sentence
the child for blasphemy.
I would not kiss the-
stone, where the blood stained
the sun. Grey halo was collapsing.
It was the helplessness
of the river, accepting the guilt
of sunken boat.
Again I recite your name
in sleep. The sting was as cruel
as the tongue.
Satish Verma, 21 november 2020
Never Again
You to whom, I
am lost, the remaining pain
will fetch the grace-
poise and dignity of
ending.
The future lies in-
the halo of the hill, where
the blood was spilled last night.
A black spot on the sun was
enlarging. I spell your name
in a bird song, that croons
tirelessly in timeless dawn.
The moon drenched lake
wails for the boat not to come.
Satish Verma, 20 november 2020
Levitating In Solitude
The heartwood had the ingrained
dream map, to reach the
divine shape of a solemn god, who
was guiding the sap.
One day you would go deep
in dark, to find your roots
where tomorrow was conceived.
And in the ruins, you will
find the warmth of
your peers, still walking on the god-particles.
A religion now takes over
the mob, ready to plunge into yellow
sands of dry river.
The hopes and promises,
give you a horizon, far away.
Your want to touch this furnace,
that brings the burning day of solitude.
Satish Verma, 19 november 2020
Welcoming New Era
Wearing the red bandanna,
you tried to manipulate the bedrock.
Life had been never the same for me.
The ferry sinks the riding
deity in midstream. In polytheism,
I never had my own god.
O the chemistry of love has
changed. Meatless, my skiny arms,
lift the sage of fallen moon in darkness.
I am not ready to conclude
as yet, my epic of fragmented truth.
We were fighting the wars of lame lies.
Who would spare me to become
immortal in stones? Let us not start the
annihilation of sane shadows in the poem.
Satish Verma, 18 november 2020
Stone-Faced
Your interpretation
was a miracle of
unbelieving. I was not
a flesh eater.
Between paradise
and a hut, lies the sky
of colored dreams. You
lean forward to-
pluck the moon.
So stoned, was the
sinister design, that
you walked straight
into the arms of stings.
It has become a
strange saga, when a
moth burns, without
a candle.
A sun nosedives with
a water motif on the lips.
Satish Verma, 11 november 2020
Victory March
The living dead are going to
ask for the right to be
forgotten in gender dysphoria.
In grimed apparel,
the deities were deported back
to the barn, for housing the antiques.
The future turns blue,
moon-eyed, hooking up the
hopes of running heels.
Is that true that there
will be mass suicide after
the fall of the fort?
The fat lanterns now
don't throw the light. Incense
of burning flesh floats.
Satish Verma, 10 november 2020
The Ephemerality
It was punctuated night.
You sleep into wakefulness.
The space between the shut-eyes
trembles, when you start sweating.
The infant-death of the dream,
incites the borderland. The-
flames rise in a partisan way,
to erase the memories of guilt.
You are in deep grief for the
coiled sperms, from end to end,
they were longer than the body.
Would you like to wake up a jinn?
A digital forgetfulness, you seek
to solve the enigma of life.
Satish Verma, 8 november 2020
Walking In Woods
This spectrum.
No it will not work.
I am not there in the
shade, smoke filled barn, or-
in secular morgue.
Stubble burning was
like legend of war.
How do I shut the
door of diamond moon-
in the kingdom of
weeping night?
An animal in you
will not sleep, claiming the
innocence of baby steps.
A virginal vanity.
Nobody stops you to
display the grains of salt.
Would you listen to the land,
flight of words-
passage of time?
Satish Verma, 7 november 2020
Thinking In Depth
The moment of truth has-
arrived. The earth
has moved the man. It was
accidental verdict. You know,
which cell you will be incarceated now?
My flame-singed eyes, search
the inception of integrity above board.
I am afraid of myself to
admit that societal violence
has come to stay!
Celebrating the birthday of
a self-propelled god, I go
into irreversible retreat. God
bless the wax house, fire was
raging on hills.
The blood cherries, blood on
your shirt, blood rings on your
fingers, and blood in my eyes.
Satish Verma, 6 november 2020
The Honey-Sellers
In searing heat, on
the fern path-
a thoughtless journey begins.
You cancel the prayer
for midnight blues.
Ice was going to unload.
The skin deep spread
of levator floor acts.
You jump from a springboard
to catch a lucid dream.
Would you now walk like
an eight legged spider?
I will remain sociable.
The hands are not for sale.
I am arranging the combs
on the white sheet-
for the queens.
Latest comments:
25 may 2025
sam53
nie wszyscy lubią żółty kolor, nie wszystkim
25 may 2025
violetta
Soczyste, piękne.
25 may 2025
Być może:) luźne sobie leżenie w różnych
25 may 2025
noga za nogę w bikini? i jeszcze pośladki ku
24 may 2025
Cudo
24 may 2025
jeśli tylko
Dzięki za komentarz :))
24 may 2025
Aha.. witaj Belamonte..
24 may 2025
Belamonte/Senograsta
ano, ale lepsza kamerka, a potem poprawka w realu,
24 may 2025
piękne, ale jest się tym wszystkim, było się
24 may 2025
mam to w pracy na co dzień, praca to życie,
24 may 2025
kiedyż będzie ciepło znów
24 may 2025
komentarz Graina tak dobry że tylko powiedzieć
25 may 2025
wiesiek
24 may 2025
wiesiek
20 may 2025
wiesiek
13 may 2025
marka
13 may 2025
marka
13 may 2025
wiesiek
12 may 2025
wiesiek
11 may 2025
wiesiek
9 may 2025
wiesiek
8 may 2025
wiesiek