Satish Verma, 6 lutego 2019
Attending to my laments,
reading a poem to myself
I could not foresee an incoming missile.
*
How could you change the world
when a black and white magpie
writes the script of life?
*
A god once told me
in whispers, he wants to
die in the shadeless sun.
Satish Verma, 5 lutego 2019
A sniper was around.
I did not want to rush
and kiss the jessamine.
Last night, it was a
retributory offer
to put off the candle.
I am here to stay
for prudence, speaking
the dialect of the nameless.
I survive the fetishes
of light. O unknown, I
live in darkness.
Moon was my solemn-
pledge. I had always stayed
in the house of truth.
Satish Verma, 4 lutego 2019
The feel, it hurts
when you
open the eyes.
The world
returns you back,
your name.
A moon
will miss the
night, the darkness.
A door shuts.
Nothing moves, except
the footfalls of unknown.
Satish Verma, 3 lutego 2019
The orange poem
wanted to blunt the white
moon, obliquely,
liberating the sameness
from the hands of
twin souls.
There was no invitation
to jump from the immoral peaks
when the fire broke out.
A blue thorn
in the flesh of a pink dawn
explores the text of broken earth.
Dust on dust
writes a song of wings
who would not take a flight.
Satish Verma, 2 lutego 2019
Earth was sending a long
shadow on the moon.
A great night for both of them.
*
A city of dreams
lies still. A divine path
opens for the erring earthlings.
*
A night falls
surreptitiously on the lake.
The moonlight was trapped by waves.
Satish Verma, 1 lutego 2019
Sailing over the body,
dream to dream
I see, a seated Buddha,
at salt coast.
Everytime you were on wrong
side. It was only accidental?
You start making a snap against
the thumb.
Levitating, you start to under-
stand life anew, cajoling
the pain of abandonment on
the roadside.
Dark lightning sexed the
clouds. Eons away a galaxy
had cried and signature came,
milky way.
Satish Verma, 31 stycznia 2019
You were lost
like a rolled away pill.
Hibiscus was waiting
*
As the night departs,
I will look at the moon
through misted eyes.
*
A bridge has collapsed.
How sad.
A bell tolls endlessly.
Satish Verma, 30 stycznia 2019
Drinking from the portrait
of an alienated moon
in a self-taught remedy―
I was looking very
hurt in the muse, which
had failed the earth.
I wanted to say, my
sun was my sun,
broken, eclipse by eclipse.
Who was traitor to oneself?
Sifting the leaves of a
raptor, to find the death
under the shade of
sundew, which blooms
when you become an insect.
Satish Verma, 28 stycznia 2019
You walked with me
when it was pitch-dark.
How do I find you in light?
*
These were the last roses,
for you. Henceforth
no water will flow from the eyes.
*
Only your face will swim
on the nippy moon;
burning skylark.
Satish Verma, 26 stycznia 2019
You walk out from
the bruises, like a late
bloomer, for a clandestine
affair with indigo pain.
I break the barrier,
and teach myself, how not
to make an incendiary bomb.
A cohort will untie the barbed wires.
Now you can tread carefully
on fire ants, undaunted.
While stitches will take care
of the woundless blood.
A hoax sends you scurrying,
to find the golden apple,
which never emerges in light.
In despair you commit a crime.
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