Satish Verma, 17 kwietnia 2021
What would you say―
if I shed my identity,
before the water enters the boat?
A cold-blooded,
culpable homicide, of the genius,
whom you gave your house
of cards.
Amidst the pathless windows
leading to no night
no dawn.
The ice bucket dramatics.
What message you want
to send, to thirsty small birds.
The fishermen sleep
beyond the echoes. No stones
were going to scream.
Satish Verma, 16 kwietnia 2021
Selene, the goddess of
the moon, promises―
not to fall in love.
Putting on hold―
the shrine, the statue,
going for sale.
No epilogue was
needed, at the end
of play; it starts again.
The painter was dead,
before completing the art
of defying the end.
Walking in ruins
for love of poetry, you
wanted the feel of the beginning.
Satish Verma, 15 kwietnia 2021
You wanted to be covered
with dahlias, unmeasuring―
the depth of tears.
How do I go finding
an elegy―
in dim moonlight?
En route I will pluck
the stars, in September.
And when the river goes in spate
and you are submerged,
I will spread a blanket of poetry.
Who wants the eternity
of soul. My love was very frail.
Satish Verma, 14 kwietnia 2021
The fractured core,
a broken faith, there was
no life after death.
The colossus was drowned
in white, stunning
the men in black.
You cannot encircle
the sun-spots with
bare dogmas.
The tear's salt is found
scrapped on lips, will not
find a place to sink.
How deep you will go
in the tattoos? The sun
wanted to check in the dementia.
Satish Verma, 13 kwietnia 2021
And my love, when do we talk
of wilderness
and daisy blooms?
The snakeskin―
twirls, and I watch the
wriggling night moving away.
I swallow the
empty words. They are not
heavy and no concoction.
The body and desires.
I have let then slip away,
my dreams, my knocks.
Against the dying of
blueberries in your eyes,
I will not wash the stains.
The curve of umbilicus
still remembers the dazzling
fall.
Satish Verma, 12 kwietnia 2021
Centrality suffers.
A poem
cries.
The kingfisher
dives
to find the depth of water.
Ready to strike
beyond― the
horizon, black hole.
With September
blues on―
my hands, I pray.
Satish Verma, 11 kwietnia 2021
Do not measure zany,
yourself. When did you become
your pedagogue?
Around the city I am
planting the roses―
against the wishes of land mines.
Haunted by a survivalism,
somewhere the smoke
was rising. But I wanted―
to leave the fragrance
for you― and you will not
wait for the ghosts to tell,
who was the visitor. You
will not know my future and
I will not know your past.
Satish Verma, 10 kwietnia 2021
After finding the pulse,
you become a man-eater.
Decide to play a volcano―
to solve the mystery
of god.
Shirtless violence,
sells the skin, the vagus
and the cranium.
There was no difference
between black and white. I
had fallen for the crooked―
smile of death.
You appear like a
nymph in my stasis―
of thoughts. I kiss
my hands.
You penetrate in my bones.
O God, you were exactly my image.
Moon stained a poem beseeches
me, to lift my pen.
Satish Verma, 9 kwietnia 2021
The interstellar
reticence, becomes the
muse of a storm.
*
Departure begins,
when the lights are dimmed.
Night licks the moon.
*
Now, you can
roll up the stings.
Cadaver will not rise.
*
The bell rings―
for the last exhibit.
Moths were waiting.
Satish Verma, 8 kwietnia 2021
When the time faults, it
becomes metaphysical for me―
to write a poem in flesh and blood.
A night's terror, descends.
Buzz of an insect hovers,
until I give in.
A thoughtess invasion―
makes you unstable, when
you reach the heights, where
snow wails, time and space
start collapsing.
A vacuum bubble expands
into a dome. You draw frescoes
in dream. The colors penetrate.
Blind landings begin.
Looks as if you were sitting with dead,
till eternity.
Regulamin | Polityka prywatności | Kontakt
Copyright © 2010 truml.com, korzystanie z serwisu oznacza akceptację regulaminu.
6 października 2024
szukaj mnieYaro
6 października 2024
Zakochamvioletta
6 października 2024
0610wiesiek
6 października 2024
Kanwa i wątekBelamonte/Senograsta
5 października 2024
0510wiesiek
5 października 2024
Cichym szeptem po kolacji...Marek Gajowniczek
5 października 2024
Wielkość nie jest kwestiąEva T.
5 października 2024
OdpowiedźBelamonte/Senograsta
4 października 2024
mężczyzna idzie do domuEva T.
4 października 2024
Myślę,więc jestemMarek Gajowniczek