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Satish Verma, 6 september 2019
Seeking Carefully
Where do you stand―
in the crowd, for the love of a cause―
your feet cannot measure the ache
of the earth, respecting the rhythm
of a lone survivor.
Can you believe in the fall of a titan?
Stranded in accuracy
for a salt lick for
a zipless mouth wide open.
Intuiting,
what the flesh would not say.
And I keep standing by the midriff to see the face.
Satish Verma, 4 september 2019
Moon Burning
I become again a fakir,
but not on alms.
A giver wants nothing
after a knife thrust.
Take away as many as
you can, my thoughts, my limbs.
There is no language
of charity, in the black hole.
You are the one, who
does not need any ladder.
Sitting on the beach, watching
the waves collapsing.
One day you will move
away from the walkway.
Satish Verma, 3 september 2019
Sound Bites
The plaques were being
attached to the wall. You would not be able
to go for refusal. The right to say no
was inherent in yes.
Accepting the exorcism and self―
flagellation, exonerates you from the guilt of
giving away; which was not yours. How
can you claim that you are your own master?
You tie a knot on the thread, hang it
on the weeping tree, throw back your head,
and wipe out all the questions, I wrote
on your forehead.
Peace― it will be mine.
Satish Verma, 2 september 2019
Shadow Boxing
Find an auspice today.
The moon was coming back
after an abdication.
Lurching on cobblestoned stretch
of blue-black clouds; paring
the tall conical trees of
royal pines.
Heaped with roses, a man
with no-war slogan, lies
in the open earth.
You will not perceive―
any smell of smouldering pen and knives.
The body turns without
a comma.
Satish Verma, 1 september 2019
Modesty
In fever, I will
always see butterflies
landing on your nose.
White, yellow, black.
They come and go and I am
sitting under a cherry blossom tree.
Stroking you, cajoling you
to drop the wings.
In grass the sun waits
in a dew drop.
The moon was not a poor thing.
Will come in white robes
to preach.
Satish Verma, 30 august 2019
One Turmoil Deep Inside
Resisting your wisdom
I want to remain, thoughtless.
Not bargaining, I come in the crowd,
to negotiate a stunt.
The awakening,
the trepidation. I pay honour
to the great stress angler―
my poverty of cruel jokes.
Like a fox to reignite―
the identity. I will move away
from the body of blood soaked denials
standing alone, against the genocide.
Was still hungry, eating
your violet-red― plums. Not was whole,
the controversy. Somewhere a
forensic evidence will say, mask was not real.
Satish Verma, 29 august 2019
Interlacing To Catch A Theme
With the tip in the center,
this is the circle of an iron will
undoing the circination.
You are moving in a straight line
now. The knots in the chest
will take you to surrogacy.
The needle's eye was watching
you― gauging your grit.
Can you take a prick?
Without blood? From an
urn you lift a red string to tie
on the hands of unborn thought.
You miss a line, a word
an image. Still it happens deep
inside. An angst constricts you in
pythonic grip. A poem becomes you.
Satish Verma, 28 august 2019
The Atrocities
Friends and foes
would have a scuffle
about, who was going to pluck the lymphoma.
A rainbow deflects,
from your eyes, making
me grasp for the breath.
Seeks apology, while
talking to trees, on boil
was the language, under the poverty line.
It does not make any sense.
The rain catcher was on trail
of a fugitive.
The sun. Always hiding
behind the veils of massacre.
I am not going to face the moon.
Satish Verma, 27 august 2019
Before The Sunset
I am trying to do my bit,
nonpareil. A soundproof doer,
erasing the palm from the painting―
drinking the nitrogen from the air
starving myself.
Cannot bequeath my eyes,
my thumb vision. You were always
asking about my sadness, emptiness.
I will not tell about
the acid times.
That killing instinct was not
there. I will give you the
unborn poems, that would not wear
the death mask, my unspoken
thoughts, peeling after the darkness and
I will let you go to find your path.
Satish Verma, 26 august 2019
Predictions
The hunger was scouring
each house― in utopia―
daring you to open the door.
Weavers were ready for―
the moment― of encounter―
to spin the corona.
As if an asteroid was heading
towards the silent ariel,
to destroy its integrity.
Beyond good and bad, there
was an effigy of a designer―
in dancing mode.
It was a jinx in your
speed. You would not climb on a
walk without a rope.
Latest comments:
11 october 2024
Belamonte/Senograsta
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... :)))
10 october 2024
violetta
Piękne kwiaty, chcę takie na balkon:)
10 october 2024
Jaga
Zawsze znienacka jesień życia...
10 october 2024
Groch przez wieki był rzucany/ dzisiaj ściana
10 october 2024
Georginie jesienne :)
10 october 2024
Tak :))
10 october 2024
:)
10 october 2024
Muchomor czerwony, trujący. Ponoć wzięty przez
10 october 2024
:))))
10 october 2024
Eva T.
Jadalny?
11 october 2024
Satish Verma
10 october 2024
wiesiek
10 october 2024
Jaga
10 october 2024
Eva T.
10 october 2024
Satish Verma
9 october 2024
wiesiek
9 october 2024
Satish Verma
8 october 2024
wiesiek
8 october 2024
Satish Verma
7 october 2024
Jaga