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Satish Verma, 26 july 2020
Understatement
Perched on a tree high
wave,
a moon was talking long
to me.
A live-in partenership
was in vogue. We always
loved each other breasts apart.
The weather was changing.
A plane load of tears would
disappear without a trace.
From somewhere a benign
lump explodes, making night,
a brilliant dream of
sleeping sky.
The hare jumps on the moon,
to snatch away the ambulatory
age, browsing around the death.
Satish Verma, 25 july 2020
What Next
Between the swaying palms,
moon was moving
in armada.
Why did you come
late, to whisper, of the
explosive explicit?
But for a lone
cry, I would not
take you.
The jewels were mine.
You had stolen
from my waistband.
It substracts the
stings from my
hobbling gait.
Satish Verma, 24 july 2020
Waiting To Happen
Being you,
not the bee queen.
Volatile as it appears, would say
one day, I don't know you yet.
The estranged mogul
returns home, empty-
handed.
Don't tell me in
stark and straight words, one
needs clemency.
The flame had touched me.
A strange panorama, created
by the geometry of violence,
now hurts.
Speed and direction
liberates the path breaker.
Resonance of your voice rises,
reading the same poem
again and again.
Segmented icons would not sleep
on the same bed.
Satish Verma, 23 july 2020
Revealing
When you take a false
lead, life will undo the seeds
and the cataracts freeze.
This is the story of
a butterfly, in disturbing amber
buried in snowfall.
Can your body take the imprints of flogging?
When you start sketching the polar ice
in the story of death, compounding
the mystry of
unleashing sea
of the fawn eyes, whose message
was sent in water?
Satish Verma, 22 july 2020
False Accusations
Every night you become
an insect, crawl into
the bed and chew the lips of unknown,
listening to the music
of flowing blood.
Outside the slogans-
tear at you. It was a wound
night, the words, untouching the space,
go- straight into the echos,
without any halo.
So where did you sink in
defiant orange of the sea,
while turning back from your designed
path? Another terrorist's sexism
was on play?
There were no barnacles, no
frog mimicry. I silent walk into
the arena to find the length of
the caravan.
Satish Verma, 20 july 2020
The Décor
Sexist barbs against
wooden breasts, street-smart.
I am something not, I am. A wall
of tears. Liquid nicotine, I will not declare
myself, creating a poem in different ways.
Waywarding, protégé digs the gullies―
becoming unfaithful to himself. The
hope, will it be extinguished? The
tall mud slide, a devastating statement
burying you, me, everyone.
A black beetle, collecting carcasses,
to feed the young. It is on the rise,
green sea. I cannot see myself bleed,
by the grasshoppers. It is like
committing suicide solo.
Satish Verma, 19 july 2020
Sense Of Betrayal
You will find one day,
water footprints, when
seismic events stop in eyes.
Don't you think a system
of mutual respect should-
be followed, before the
conception of a new rage.
Moons come and go.
You upturn the clock racing
the time to-
reach infinity.
Where the hundred stars
die daily, do you still
want to become a blue light
in the misty house-
of headstones?
Satish Verma, 18 july 2020
Existential Plight
Will not put any claim.
Neonate my poem
has gone gray.
Black days and white
nights.I will recall my
ghost and ask, O god-
do you exist anywhere?
A thread of pain, makes
a family of feet, climbing
in smoke.
Vulnerable to theft, my
thoughts divert me towards
cemetery, where I will
bury my sins.
You remained a question
for me on calender date.I
will hold on the time,
which has thrown me back.
Satish Verma, 17 july 2020
Trying To Breath
No final goodbye. No poetic
apology. No introduction
to a frightening joke of
a blue Buddha.
The neonates were blind.
There was no alternative, except
to wish them luck. I wanted
to leave my pangs with razor points.
Morality and hunted crimes.
It was a shadow boxing
in cryptobiosis. A bleak day
invites no more clouds.
You talk to the solitary moon.
The silence enters the reeds.
A whistling wakes up the night.
Death goes for a walk.
Satish Verma, 16 july 2020
It Is Absurd
After the sunset,
the moon comes out whitewashed.
An extremist flies a hawk.
The bird's meet was
disbanded. There was no
mandate to decide the fate
of eggs.
I cannot think. After the
arrest of an anarchist the cauldron
was left to boil.
The bones start melting.
Step out from the dark.
The blind men were protesting
in the street against the sun.
It is a small world.
You meet me again and again.
Latest comments:
9 october 2024
Belamonte/Senograsta
o jej, jak upojnie, gloryfikująco - po co się
9 october 2024
szczęścia tylko znaczą
9 october 2024
Taki dramatyczny, ja tam nie jestem taki, spokój,
8 october 2024
Jaga
Prawda :))) Jeden bardziej pasował mi do tytułu
8 october 2024
violetta
Zauważyłam:) jestem konkretna, a tak owijają
8 october 2024
ale jest i tak ładnie, mnie się wątki ciągną
8 october 2024
Marian Banaszak
dokładnie to z dwoma
7 october 2024
Melancthe
Piękne jak zawsze
7 october 2024
Samotność ukazana...
7 october 2024
Świetne ujęcie :)
7 october 2024
"Cieszmy się z małych rzeczy "- https://www.google.com/search?client=firefox-b-d
7 october 2024
Bardzo lubię ten kolorowy czas:)
9 october 2024
Satish Verma
8 october 2024
wiesiek
8 october 2024
Satish Verma
7 october 2024
Jaga
7 october 2024
wiesiek
7 october 2024
Satish Verma
6 october 2024
wiesiek
5 october 2024
wiesiek
5 october 2024
Eva T.
5 october 2024
Satish Verma