Latest items:
Satish Verma, 12 october 2016
Mourning Band
The descent starts
with a dance, of tears and fire.
A culture of lids
lowers the salt, the silver,
the gems.
Antithesis to cremate
a golden ascent.
The night long vigil had a
naked puff.
It will roll now in stasis.
The ash will take over the tongue
for a big lie. Faith healers stand
in a row. The empty hands
were getting a burial.
The toeless path will ride the
wheels now. Beyond the blue sky
there is no death.
Satish Verma, 10 october 2016
Unstitching
Do not take a vow of silence.
Death will find its home.
The circus has taken over
the needles.Who will stitch
the wounds of earth. A man
walks into sunset carrying
a bowl of tears. The sit-in
was going to resist a poem
of life. Would you unrobe
your identity in public one day?
Always I am punctuated at night
by a yellow moon standing
in my window. A nude goddess
is going to mourn the death of a thought.
Satish Verma, 9 october 2016
Blistering Attack
A peacock becomes non-violent
keeping the warheads
in his tail. In bird hour
who wants to blink?
The chicken runs amok.
Lying motionless was
painful for being slaughtered.
Subversion was more acceptable-
than falling in love. The bare
chest shows a gored scar.
They have started a dance
to entice a herd of pachyderms.
Bleeding? No. They have
cobbled an army of bedbugs
to start a violent protest
against the moon.
Satish Verma, 8 october 2016
Immaculacy
Consensual drop.
White bougainvilleas
were falling
on green eyes,
as I climb the sun.
Not a loss.
The seeds will carry
an image of a fallen
hero on the hairy chest
of a spilled sperm-
into the rippled lake
of a crowd chanting the enemy’s
death. The heritage
of corrupt state will bury
the memorial of a honeycomb.
Do you hear a meltdown
of an ululating monk?
A piercing trill comes from
a scalp scooping the wardrobe
of a dethroned king.
Satish Verma, 7 october 2016
Explosions
Violence unalloyed.
I want you to hear
the noise, light and blast.
Shrouded inside,
a chandelier breaks
in splinters of hymns-
all enveloping. In the positional
vertigo, you hit the nail.
I call it quits, undating
a curve, an arch.
Incubation.
It was incomplete. They will parade
the victim naked, because she was
raped. Why did she let loose
the testosterones?
Walking ferns and
wish bone.
The inmate wants nothing.
She has come to stay in dark
till the sun unrises.
Satish Verma, 6 october 2016
Praying Hurriedly
You were trampeling on a wasp,
when sprouts
were generating Escherichia.
Dirt. Romping around. How many
corpses were there? Why can’t you
tell the exact figure?
Under the carpet the shoes will
help. The need to jump from
the rostrum? Was it not a banal show?
The giggling girls threw a
cordon around the sheep. The
trembling flesh. Somebody walked
away with the chopped head.
Weeping. No the severed head
was laughing.
It was an open book.
How to make the beds on street,
and then lie naked.
Satish Verma, 4 october 2016
Taking On
It was a fast
against truth, in support
of unbidden body
which took the history lesson.
A star is born
out of midnight accident.
Darkness deems dark
in siege of self-restraint.
An embattled self
seeks a counting. The money
speaks in absence, to clear
the debt of tears.
No longer
the eyes will look at
the marriage of trans-blue veins
in legs of seedless dreams.
Satish Verma, 30 september 2016
Olive Branch
Anti-howling receives the
deserter. There was a mass
breast-beating without
any noise.
The pugnacious jaw
drops. Shows a frail
sensitivity to tormented
values –
of invisible mirrors, shutting
down the wolf’s face. An
ancient spider jumps
on your bronzed ego.
A transsexual walks on
the ramp to defend her territory.
Cucumbers would jump to
conceive the obnoxious yawning.
Satish Verma, 29 september 2016
Live Baits
An autopsy was being conducted
with brutality
to silence the rising dialogue,
pulling out the lethal crunch
of scripted history.
You want the kiss of a parting grain.
A secondhand face crops
up in a newspaper. Are you ashamed
of curtains? They have covered
all the skeletons. The tangerines,
why do I remember them
like juicy lips in dark.
We are going to bungle together,
decked up to receive the body
of a honed player.
Satish Verma, 28 september 2016
Heterosexuality
Were you ready for a virginity test
to cross the umbrella of harpoons.
A chilled moon
will welcome you after slaying
the hot sun in the valley
of gods. A schism scoops
ignominy. Seeing the lights
which were not there. Almost
sexy, the sky pretends to unrobe.
No weeping. A Caucasian brings
red grapes for a naming
ceremony of black password,
searing the age of complicity.
A rocket propelled grenade
is going to blast a whisper.
Latest comments:
13 july 2025
jeśli tylko
zimują w domu, a latem "ogródkują :)
12 july 2025
AS
genialny wiersz; ukłony i serdeczne pozdrowienia
9 july 2025
violetta
Tak, tylko winko bezalkoholowe:)
9 july 2025
Belamonte/Senograsta
wisi, to był ten sam gagatek, chyba się opamiętał,
8 july 2025
jak ma na imie?
8 july 2025
jeden z nas
8 july 2025
nie da się
8 july 2025
Czego, piwa?:)
8 july 2025
Halki nie są aż takie cienkie:)
8 july 2025
No co ty:) nie akceptuję:)
8 july 2025
te diety są przerażające, gdzie zrozumienie
8 july 2025
wow. miałem kiedyś białą myszkę była wesoła
13 july 2025
wiesiek
12 july 2025
wiesiek
12 july 2025
wiesiek
10 july 2025
wiesiek
9 july 2025
wiesiek
8 july 2025
wiesiek
7 july 2025
jeśli tylko
5 july 2025
jeśli tylko
4 july 2025
Jaga
27 june 2025
Jaga