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Satish Verma, 22 stycznia 2022
Mooning Around
The porus mind―
in the vacant chair, thinking
of infidelity or unbelieving― with
folded hands in prayer
like mantis.
Eating moonlight―
a predator will wait
for a victim fall.
In meditation, you
evolve into Zen. The intuition
to kill, the urge― to go
bald and bare.
The kleptomania. Let me steal
your god from your garden―
without any need. Just
a showpiece.
In a death trap
millions of caterpillars die daily.
Satish Verma, 21 stycznia 2022
Some Profanity
Smearing an uncut―
and whole moon on the forehead
of night―
the crazy wind starts
turning back the clowns.
Tonight the kitchen would be shut down.
Somebody had climbed
the heaven for a joke, and
became a monster.
Beyond the bread and
milk, lies the cow dead. My
soul cries, who will―
jump on the moon?
The end opens a distant―
black water lake.
Satish Verma, 20 stycznia 2022
Reciting The Fake Poem
Making them dead―
in a regal way,
you joined the bomb squad
of poems.
Why did I need to remember
you intensely O god?
Why eternity of enormous
pain would ensnare you? A group
of panthers were going to attack a fawn
in the blue game? Will
you hurt me one day?
You don't cover your eyes
with a black veil. Then what was
the purpose of becoming invisible?
Does a truth live in dark?
There was no
need of law, before
you die, after removing the makeup.
We always discover an excuse
to live lavishly on the hired
words of praise.
There are no more parables
no more prophets.
Satish Verma, 19 stycznia 2022
History Repeats
My killing instincts
were intact.
On this bloody moon day―
I must talk to myself.
Just lips would move,
not the mind.
A mode of non-being
comes in fore. You watch the pansies dancing―
nonchalantly.
The air passes. White phosphorus
ignites on its own.
Memory alternates with pain.
It is not over.
We are still searching ourselves
in a mound of earth.
Satish Verma, 17 stycznia 2022
A Poetic Version
You were at it again.
Ignoring the truth
of lies!
Embodiment suffers
when you break
the sacred threads of perception.
Dried up tears blemishes,
on the voluptuous cheeks of time―
speak another tale,
catching the fire.
In your smashed tree
of verbosity lived
my small poem like a spirit.
Animistic!
You will not write my name
on the sinless rocks before throwing them
in the sea.
And I will watch your face on each
fallen bract of colored bougainvillea.
Satish Verma, 15 stycznia 2022
Not Yet Battered
The pain physical.
I carve it in my mind, to
set it free― like the leaf going
to meet the ground.
To carry myself, holding
within, the desire to seek liberation
from coming and going.
My unroofed walls, taking
in, the sun, the rains―
the storm― the snow.
And my hurts―
my poesy.
I am confronting myself
for the final count.
Satish Verma, 14 stycznia 2022
Remembering You
After victim effect
of hibernation,
I was ready to take a call
of a sudden drop.
The strange idea
engulfs me. Transparency
now speaks.
The fallout may compromise
with ash. I will not.
Someone wakes up my conscience.
A near dead goddess lights
up the last lamp.
The dirty sheets for
the crying dolls―
crying dolls.
Like the dumb finger
in frost, wants to―
write your name in blue sky.
Satish Verma, 13 stycznia 2022
Moaning Chimneys
There was no rationale
of jinxed proxy. Let me sort
out the gifts of a no god.
You want to initialize me
in forgetting you. Was it so
simple standing under the rains?
Who were you in
my nest, divorced from the
silence of the aches?
The door will not open now for
the moon to walk in for a tender kiss.
This soil, the grief
the stairs I am going to throw
your malignant civilization.
Start respecting yourself now.
I will come to pick
up my virginity.
You do not know, what was
behind this inertia.
Satish Verma, 12 stycznia 2022
Falling From A Precipice
In a chilly moment
a metaphysical shadow
descends.
I start studying in
granular detail, the substance―
cause and knowing.
The terrible. I become
an executioner; climb down
a tar pit to drown
the skulls of peers.
Everything goes in
circinate mode. A ball
of spines. You bleed,
you ache.
I want to go before
a firing squad, for not
remaining innocent.
Satish Verma, 10 stycznia 2022
In Sadness
It was a non-beginning.
You were there.
How much do you know
about this aggression, when
the emperor was getting
ready for self-destruction?
The heat of a bullet breaks,
the alien chest. I grab the
soft music of heartache―
and release the waterbirds.Now
the eyes will see the―
dawn of mind, and my little
dust will fly over the blue blood.
A man covers his mouth
with a strip of cloth.
He wants to talk to a laughing Buddha.
Satish Verma, 9 stycznia 2022
Replying To Myself
Roping in, as if―
all my defeats, creating―
a tiara for a royal fall.
Being hurled
towards the enormous black hole,
chased by the sun.
Like an old thinker
I was putting myself in a
violent comet's pathway.
Not being a whole religion
why did I worship a walking stone?
How would I communicate
with my destiny?
I was not born a shining star.
An individual becomes,
an androgyne, unsure
to name the gender.
I am going to honour the talent.
Satish Verma, 8 stycznia 2022
Eternally
In shadow of moon―
amidst banal, repeated answers,
you take a shot.
Moment of truth―
dissembles, the religion
of fear and kill. I hear
a sea of daffodils
going wild.
After the aching, The vision is lost.
You revert to bind
alleys. Between faith and hope
flickering light waits.
You stir and churn,
breach the obscene party
and go for a god.
Satish Verma, 7 stycznia 2022
Tortured Times
You wanted him alive.
To witness the evolution of
man into beast.
Hounds start yowling,
one after the other―
in dark.
Why do I break the coconut to―
celebrate the death of a god?
It was that simple as
an orchird opens its bizarre labellum
to trap the sun.
A paperweight against
an argument, shatters the window.
The bluebird
refuses to sing.
Satish Verma, 6 stycznia 2022
Philosophizing
On the run,
was a bon viveur―
in amber thoughts.
I start unknowing you―
O invisible. A curse
will follow if you make me
a god.
I plead, standing
on the rubble, I will not learn
to live without the muse.
Sometimes you disappear
unshorn, in the rain forest―
of stunning phrases.
I hold,
the existence of a ghost.
Undying for the sake of
forced acceptance.
That was the art of inevitability.
Satish Verma, 5 stycznia 2022
Made On Earth
You by yourself,
will become me―
one day.
I am standing―
lone, with
body planet.
The intrinsic design―
of ampersand
falters. And
partition of soul
begins. The mutation
from the dust to schism takes place.
Where tears cannot
reach, the poem
will carry the message.
Satish Verma, 4 stycznia 2022
New Questions
For lurid details
of velvety arms,
in ashes you sleep.
Knowingly you walk
into a death well,
opening the trapdoor.
Seizure brings
the nearness to unknown,
deliberately.
I do not know me―
now, after reciting
your name.
Oh God, why did
you play with coda,
before the curtain drop?
Satish Verma, 3 stycznia 2022
Some Transcripts
Phobia. As it occurred.
Earth was being spread
on the tryst of man.
You won't learn the
life, wearing the veil of death.
That will ditch the destiny.
It was a big question. How to meet you?
One's own beginning was
transient. You will always
imagine the end.
How wrong world was,
when you were stigmatized
for saving the poems?
Give me your fist not the hand.
At least I am not going to be perished.
Long live the Homo.
Satish Verma, 1 stycznia 2022
Distressing Call
Fear returns to
glass jars. The generic gap
flutters in narrow
basin.
The caged image. Regency
starts burning. The
divide widens. Your fidgety
fingers roll the stiletto.
Premonition. You condone
the crucifixion, beheadings. I
heal the broken limbs,
punctured hearts.
The striped, elegant walk
on the ramp. I dream of
empty bowls. The rubber
mannequin smiles.
Satish Verma, 31 grudnia 2021
Listening Unheard Voices
The leaning neck
of the moon, getting
intimate with
a tall pine.
Partheno-sculpting
a protégé, without touching
the essentials.
Somebody waits for your
footfalls. Somebody
loves you without telling.
Like sensory pits
of a viper. I smell
your heat.
The swaying hips
of downing night.
Sun was rising.
Satish Verma, 30 grudnia 2021
In Denial
In shadows of dawn,
there was no theme―
on way to home.
My agile hands were trying
to find the sins of
unbroken faith.
Will you hold for sometime,
the trembling questions
of my parched lips?
My deepest secret was out. I was
preparing myself in extremis.
Not worth speaking of,
I was changing my path.
You will not cry anytime.
Here goes the culture,
the credence of unbelieving.
Stand by me, when I explode.
Satish Verma, 29 grudnia 2021
Strange Logics
A blood retreats―
through the gift of tears.
Pain has no religion.
Why did you search the
truth in ashes?
A command goes waste.
I didn't call a god
for mercy.
The dust leaps for wings.
Rain leaves no scars.
I will come back
to gather the washed bones.
A rusted wound has no thoughts left.
Satish Verma, 28 grudnia 2021
Preternaturally
Trying to understand the
impossible, I will
reach for you or your
hidden libido.
Gynaecomastia.
Life span cut short by
despondency. A woman
speaks for sex change.
Poverty of thoughts, and―
death of a theme. It
was the one-way street in a
ghost town.
Something to serve in
the way of courtesy, when
you start imploding
to celebrate the arrival of ash.
Satish Verma, 27 grudnia 2021
Your Tresses Of Night Shade
Do you know my
love, where the road ends
I will meet you
one day.
Life had been always angry
with me. Sometimes I would
sit quietly, doing nothing, and
looking at the hanging―
earlobes of Buddha.
Cannot hone my thoughts,
how to stop the violence.
The Sunday moon―
cracks open like a cotton flower.
The vandals,
I am done with. The headstones
separate the faiths. It was
a punishment.
O bronzed man, don't
hide the gold.
Satish Verma, 26 grudnia 2021
The Land Pulls
Dying was not worth
living. Your journey
starts for unknown.
Why were you fixated to
watch the small men―
milk the moon?
It was very expensive to
buy a decent death.
Religion makes it dirty.
Do you remember the myth
of Sisyphus? I love to
carry my rock without a face.
Not quality of life. It
was a matter of degrees
when you feel liberated.
Satish Verma, 25 grudnia 2021
The Land Pulls
Dying was not worth
living. Your journey
starts for unknown.
Why were you fixated to
watch the small men―
milk the moon?
It was very expensive to
buy a decent death.
Religion makes it dirty.
Do you remember the myth
of Sisyphus? I love to
carry my rock without a face.
Not quality of life. It
was a matter of degrees
when you feel liberated.
Satish Verma, 23 grudnia 2021
Little Gods
Do you know the
truth of lies, when
something goes wrong?
You pick up the names
from private dialogues,
to hurt yourself.
Increasingly on edge,
You release the―
doves, to reach the affiliates.
To buy some time
for a debate, I put
off all the lamps.
Why the amnesia,
becomes a blessing in
celebrating the mass beheadings?
Satish Verma, 21 grudnia 2021
Coding An Ocean
You fault me for
a silent poem.
In infinity of this moment.
I catch the miracle
of unspoken words.
Let me not forget
the way you look at
me via tears.
Why buttercups were
poisonous, untasting you?
Even a simile touch
brings a shudder in leaves.
Give me a kiss of parting,
only you can give. For
ages I will remember the sting.
Satish Verma, 20 grudnia 2021
The Cameo
Chinks― honest to nails,
averting the wants.
It was very dark here.
My screams were not reaching to you.
The sublety seeps
into conversation. Salt was
very bitter. Tears swirl at
the banks of hurts. The stains
were becoming darker.
Poachers were honing
their pens. Someone falls
out of line, to take revenge
on the gods.
Weather was changing.
No dress code was needed
to take a dip in holy water.
A moon crunch will meet you in nude.
Satish Verma, 19 grudnia 2021
Speaking Of Angst
Killer was brown―
not white. Snowfall
covers the wounds of earth.
No questions were
asked for the body
lying in your lap.
Invisible was the
hurt, inflicted on my soul―
for not paying the debt.
Let the myth of
glory fall of the man.
It insults the god.
Satish Verma, 18 grudnia 2021
In Nostalgia
Dual to one another,
I became
a victim's faith.
Collapsing at
far side of the moon, before
I remembered ars poetica.
There was a motive
behind the question, in
between the teary answers.
It was not possible to find
peace, in verses, on the loud
lake at night.
Will ask myself
again, why not to set
the boat on fire?
Ostatnie komentarze:
9 lipca 2025
violetta
Tak, tylko winko bezalkoholowe:)
9 lipca 2025
Belamonte/Senograsta
wisi, to był ten sam gagatek, chyba się opamiętał,
8 lipca 2025
jak ma na imie?
8 lipca 2025
jeden z nas
8 lipca 2025
nie da się
8 lipca 2025
Czego, piwa?:)
8 lipca 2025
Halki nie są aż takie cienkie:)
8 lipca 2025
No co ty:) nie akceptuję:)
8 lipca 2025
te diety są przerażające, gdzie zrozumienie
8 lipca 2025
wow. miałem kiedyś białą myszkę była wesoła
8 lipca 2025
i to jest piwołanie poety
8 lipca 2025
motyle moga nas opuścić i wtedy trzeba przejsc
9 lipca 2025
Toya
9 lipca 2025
wiesiek
9 lipca 2025
Yaro
9 lipca 2025
Belamonte/Senograsta
8 lipca 2025
wiesiek
8 lipca 2025
sam53
8 lipca 2025
Belamonte/Senograsta
7 lipca 2025
jeśli tylko
7 lipca 2025
Toya
6 lipca 2025
violetta