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Satish Verma, 11 november 2013
IMAGES
Bending the fluid anger, it was coming: from
anthills to natural selection, the sexual drive of a violenne;
invasive, brutal, the testosterone chasing wet thighs,
the night sweats. Kleptomania rising; castration
or helium filled masks for assisting suicides were
mutilating genes. Multiasking for eugenics? Hate and revenge
hangs a body on the turret of a tank, a wrong
for wrong. A little crown, winged pollens scattered
on brittle areola, the milky way shying away from midnight
sun. The toppled vision in blindness of a tribe
unearths the skeletons of mass murders; the
fanatics changing the face value of truths.
Images do not leave the temples.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 10 november 2013
HOISTING
A fledged reincarnation starts a carnage
before the scared skull, ribs were missing
from the pink wraps. Eye over eye opens a split
vision, to live in a shirtless thoughts, to kill
where the truth was. An accidental lover hovers over
the green breasts, full of secret grief.
All the birds on the lake have surrendered
the sun's light to extinguished nests and flown away.
The pain of yesterday now, will haunt the bride
of moon who had to abandon the baby in mud
to be watched by wolves of garlanded priests.
The tear was me, subway was me.
The skin was changing colour, camouflaged for
shame and guilt, pleading a glimpse of fire.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 9 november 2013
LITTLE TRUTHS
Deluge of criminality in the moral night;
sun was taking a plunge on the falls,
in the name of cobbled up front, for our
rise and fall in the primary casuality.
Sacred contusion, on the floor of mausoleum,
when you smell like a forgotton god, and
lie in the generosity of asylum under the downy mildew.
You cannot cry in the armless death.
History begins with starvation and murders
of innocents between the blasts. Spiders were fattening
on walls eating untangled, discarded syllables.
Punishment of defeat makes you a sex slave.
The ash smeared body must lie on doormat.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 8 november 2013
BETWEEN HUNGER AND ESCAPE
Something was not polite in signs.
The smell of incarcerated bed of gods
was floating down.
A subdued shadow of black moon
was climbing on the window. And each
house had offered a son, to rage
a war of retribution. Malice towards
one and everybody, they were ready to cut the
hands who were holding the book.
Out of the ore comes out the gold, when
you use mercury. Vacant eyes have the
veils of tears. Dampness was melting the bones.
The mud on the face, a gift of birthday.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 7 november 2013
MOURNING THE DELUGE
Something was not polite in signs.
The smell of incarcerated bed of gods
was floating down.
A subdued shadow of black moon
was climbing on the window. And each
house had offered a son, to rage
a war of retribution. Malice towards
one and everybody, they were ready to cut the
hands who were holding the book.
Out of the ore comes out the gold, when
you use mercury. Vacant eyes have the
veils of tears. Dampness was melting the bones.
The mud on the face, a gift of birthday.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 6 november 2013
ONCE UPON
Robbing the silence of heights
to undo the whole sky, you lean on
an enigma to become reverential,
elevated by an absurd system;
I was still pursuing fidelity
in the rubble of meaningless life;
not faith, but certain urge to follow
the doorway to unknown, something to be done
for the hungry child’s scream,
the truth that was not there, nor with the
inclined gods of tomorrow. Then where
shall we meet in the grazing bones
of new born human culture?
The instant music of death wish lingers on a moon
and then flies away in a kiss.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 5 november 2013
GOING NOWHERE
On the blue icicles
you were colliding with orbiting electrons
naked legs on rocking chair
were expecting the visual words to spook
for clairvoyance with the sun decline beyong borders
my eyes are damp, I know the bottom
was echoing after the shipwreck nevertheless,
archives were swimming in muddy water.
Can you defeat the throb of pain?
The fake drunkenness of bailouts, it was
still not happening - the whiteness of dawn, only
gray clouds over the peaks, speckled with
orange blooms, the shadows of red blood,
a million despairs of avenging marriages
of voices in dark sea.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 4 november 2013
TIME TO ANSWER *
This wake, I owed it to you, my defining moment:
for the raw melding, of life imprisonement
and death behind the bars. The sin had
seeped slowly in the foundations. A blurred view
of the caravan passing on the shifting sand
of quarter-century; the devastation had turned
black in smug oasis, the victim will not
become virgin again. Blind dead will monitor
the course of grievers. On to her tongue
I leave the endless stars and you will forget
the bull-dosed windows and weeping walls
of incaracerated house where the daily meals
were sex and rape; the strange shadows
of crime and pardon are breaking now
in blue sky after the defeating moon.
* After hearing the verdict on Josef Fritzl on 19th March 09
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 3 november 2013
LEAVES
Under lip's shadow
dislocated in faint moonlight
we discussed the maligned communications
between fuming monologues
of desiccsatd life. Sorcery was not able to
knife the secrets of the park, branches
and trees of memory. The game continues
in jungle of lies, blessed by lines of murder:
a divided loyality to have the last laugh.
The nose-dive for inheritance inside the flesh
lays the bones bleached white to dye
them again in pink morale:
I reach where I never intended to travel.
There is no death to mourn now. Each maggot
was ready to enter the spine of image.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 2 november 2013
* BALD AND PAINFUL
in emptiness staying aloof
to set the wings free,
a shadow self without flesh and bones
to rip out the enormity of silence
of words, cold in the face of duality
metaphysical but of somber echo of tension
between reconciliation and deep anger
causing a long flight of fantasy
of grains sprouting after self-denial at
the turf of remembering deep, it would be
a comeback for the pelting rain on the swan -
song of a sizzling desert,
the omnivorus sanity of claws in the golden
fabric of blood caked body of a star
* On the death of Jade Goody
Satish Verma
Latest comments:
24 september 2025
Belamonte/Senograsta
no tak, nie jestem sam, temat się powtarza,
24 september 2025
czasem najważniejsze to zasnąć, przespać
24 september 2025
to na portrecie jest potworne, uchwyciłaś istotę
24 september 2025
Dzięki, ja też pozdrawiam
23 september 2025
Eva T.
Belamonte/Senograsta, serdecznie pozdrawiam :),
23 september 2025
akurat tutaj nie myslalam o winie, a dzisiaj
23 september 2025
alez oczywiscie :)
23 september 2025
no cos w tym sensie ;) Serdecznie pozdrawiam,
23 september 2025
Jaga
Czas jest bardzo kapryśny i wybiórczo traktuje.
23 september 2025
Droga donikąd.
23 september 2025
Weronika
Czas jest protezą natychmiastową.
23 september 2025
smokjerzy
staram się, żeby zawsze były w pobliżu (
23 september 2025
wiesiek
23 september 2025
Jaga
22 september 2025
wiesiek
21 september 2025
wiesiek
21 september 2025
absynt
20 september 2025
wiesiek
19 september 2025
wiesiek
19 september 2025
absynt
19 september 2025
ajw
17 september 2025
wiesiek