Satish Verma, 4 lipca 2019
Do you need a divine witness―
if I abdicate a claim
on you, saluting the dark?
Drawing the ire of a void,
the violence becomes visible―
when earth starts dying.
The completeness― will give
you a rude welcome― after
you were landuishing in wait.
An intern surrogacy―
defies the sexual assault of the
gimmick. Why did not you
swear in the moon?
In jitters. I start―
making circles again― and again.
Will I remember―
who am I?
Satish Verma, 3 lipca 2019
Like a starfish― you are
not a star, always opening
the shells― with your tube fest
to find the pearls.
Predator― you will attack
in a crowd― when it is dark―
coming out of your skin.
Flesk for flesh. It was your dynasty.
I cannot reconcile. I cannot
play the game of chess―
and checkmate the opponent.
Will wait for a nemesis.
Unorthodox. The nature
reveals its move― in the galaxies.
The earth is in―
mid-life crisis.
Satish Verma, 30 czerwca 2019
Tell me,
how would you die
when the call comes?
A hollow skin―
with no viscera― underneath.
Will you cry―
while breaking away from the earth―
carrying your own urn?
Elysian vision―
was not very clear
and Styx was full of bodies.
There was no space left
to celebrate the liberation.
A parchment paper
with your fading name printed;
after the petition of right
to exist, undying
in deeds.
Satish Verma, 29 czerwca 2019
First listen to your heart.
No poetry will walk tonight―
without fear.
Sometimes you will find―
words will not descend/to heal
your ache of unslept poems. Hovering/
like the obsessive hawks.
The migratory, adjutant/
storks, had not come to roost
on the tall tree―
naked as they are.
Democracy always/sends
erotica/to take off your mind
from the trivial subjects.
Fireworks resume the celebrations
for the fugitive/who returned
home after drinking absinthe.
Satish Verma, 28 czerwca 2019
After the apocalypse,
the fiefdoms were growing―
buttercups― with golden flowers,
cupshaped.
Anemones and hellebores/
aconites and clematises/
famed for making lethal―
poisonous seeds.
So much went through us.
A billion years after― there will be
no life/ on earth. But we
have become lifeless now―
the poems incomplete.
It was getting smaller―
and smaller― the tall man.
Satish Verma, 27 czerwca 2019
The finger and a ring―
a story of bonhomie;
if you live precariously.
Difficult when you are perceptively nimble.
I would like to take off―
any clinger.
If you live in a crate, ―
there is no escape.
The pollination has stopped.
The washed bees will not go anywhere―
in this rain.
The bumbler will strike
when you are eating the poem.
Satish Verma, 26 czerwca 2019
It is pouring.
You can feel, smell and touch
the rain. A river of qualms―
starts swelling. Watercress―
will decide the fate of water.
Do not consent to switch off
the amplitude. You cannot drink the sky.
Keeping the lexicon― of road map in order.
The scope of communiqué
expires, if you do not offer the apology
for dousing the snow with
conspiracy and setting it on fire.
A daring attack takes place
to avenge the insult of mountains.
Satish Verma, 25 czerwca 2019
Grazing on the clouds,
moon was moving
in a daze.
Someone will milk it
for the poor, who will not
sing for the inevitable.
Witch hazel will stop the
bleed of unholy wars
between the diminutive fidelities.
This was the beginning
of a dialogue― meant for
the deaf― who will listen with the eyes.
There was no consolation
for a man who lost his finger
while searching his ring.
Satish Verma, 24 czerwca 2019
That inner probe―
and access― was the need. I
promised myself, not to
sail on the waves.
It was difficult― the way
of birth, to deliver the truth.
You must invoke―
the legacy of the reals― against the fakes.
Factuality, your image
will not suffer. I will witness
the ultimate happening. The
testament will not be written on the beach.
Between ” I “ and “you” lies
the gulf of ancestry. The
unknowing will make it
easy to understand the glacial fall.
Satish Verma, 23 czerwca 2019
It bends― the chastity―
the illicit vows. O, let me
become an artisan. I will
ensue― a new harvest of sandalwood.
Don’t light the joss sticks.
There is no abstract presence―
of him. Nobody knows―
you, better than me.
Search the―
magnum opus and you will
find that― man has failed…
to clear the debris of the Fort.
Strange happenings, still
take place. Grass is still green …
in solitude, a poem
takes birth.
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