Najnowsze prace:

Poezja

	Satish Verma
	PROFIL O autorze Przyjaciele (3) Poezja (3973)

najnowsze najwyżej punktowane najczęściej komentowane

Satish Verma, 5 maja 2016

Dead Faith

Pardon my mask
I will put you on pedestal to torment me,
because you were necessary
for my existence.
When I prepare finally my death wish
you can smile.

Your eyes are looking through my head,
I know,
you were hurt from my moon face.
I will wash your feet with my tears now.

Exhausted, nameless in a crowd
I was counting my see-through triumphs
all piled up as burned out bones.

To live without meaning is very painful.
Everything is abused for self gratification.
Over a black sky, against the mountains
the old silence becomes teeth of a dead faith.

liczba komentarzy: 0 | punkty: 0 | szczegóły

Satish Verma, 4 maja 2016

Countdown

Are you genuine, I ask?
Your face, a stone wall,
I had been bruising my psyche against it.
I have no strength to bury myself alive,
in the mass grave of lies.

An ancient fear
descends from the hill.
Wants to marry a tree.
Or worship the terror
of a diaspora.

The vultures are dying every day,
We were talking of pregnancy,
desire and death.

The sparrows are gone.
Heat is rising.
I am starting the countdown.

liczba komentarzy: 0 | punkty: 0 | szczegóły

Satish Verma, 2 maja 2016

Shock The Garden

Symbols are true, because they are there.
Your solemn ache
proud of failure
traces a circle.
Dark and eternal, in all its purity
punishment becomes an award for life.

It is not difficult to know
whether a god exists.
You commit suicide to become a god.

Inoculating falsehood
dying daily unto death was not my pitch.

Your mind breaks the moon in dark,
into hundred bright crumbs.
Each bit becomes a metaphor
To shock the garden.

liczba komentarzy: 0 | punkty: 1 | szczegóły

Satish Verma, 1 maja 2016

Eternal Cuddle

To become or not to become a renegade,
or to die or not to die for a semi-god?
These were some of the questions
thrown at an incomplete script.

What elevated you to a celebrity?
Your hump or deep wrinkled groans?
Age is abating, abattoir is empty.
Exile from the past is over.
When you intend to comeback to childhood
and become a simple star?

Behind the mask lies the embrace of death
I am afraid the flames will engulf,
the genius of pathways.
Everything into turn with obsolete gossip.
A patch of sunlight becomes a costly exposure
Bones are entwined in eternal cuddle.

liczba komentarzy: 0 | punkty: 0 | szczegóły

Satish Verma, 30 kwietnia 2016

Neighbours Watch

Riding the back of a sensual saint
a white tiger
was turning the human genome
into ashes.
The moon was climbing up.

Snips were becoming tainted.
Decoding the helix has brought down the god
into a module.
I am encircling the basic truth.
Sky is turning dark.

Saffron bull has broken the golden gate.
Blood is spilled on the sidewalk
lined with marigolds.
I am standing alone on a pathless beach.
Sea has sent back the harvest of grief.

From the periphery agitation starts.
Center has no choice. Absolutely
self-ending-in-self. Each breath comes discreetly
deep in the ravines of soul.
Neighbours were watching.

liczba komentarzy: 0 | punkty: 0 | szczegóły

Satish Verma, 29 kwietnia 2016

I See My Own Demise

Anxiety was touching the mime
I cannot hold a reality.
We were playing with each other.

The creation and hunger of living
takes you to unknown fields
I am, what I am not.

Always bluffing, puffing on the road,
counting the milestones
in reverse osmosis,
feeling proud of mighty mistakes,
talking to faltered ego,
going against the sun.

My climate merges with hot desert
A story reappears again and again
like a dried skeleton in sands.

How long I will run
chased by planetary fears?
Barbs pierce the tender zones
I see my own demise,
body floating like a flower on lake.

liczba komentarzy: 0 | punkty: 0 | szczegóły

Satish Verma, 28 kwietnia 2016

Dimensions

You were sitting on a honeycomb
I wanted a life
without stink or stain.
Intently staring at every celebration
listening to every sound,
and warding off the hissing reptiles
near my ladder.

Nature, I do not want to fight with.
Grief brings psoriasis,
the eternal itch and restlessness.
I scream at every red patch,
my unreadable pain forgets the date.

Mutism was not the answer
to protect the purity of tongue.
Silence was not a golden word.
Without becoming hoarse
one can shout to tell the dimensions.

liczba komentarzy: 0 | punkty: 0 | szczegóły

Satish Verma, 27 kwietnia 2016

Woods Of Craft

I woke up clutching the dreams
in deluge of tears.
Night had a brackish taste,
the other side of moon was dark.

One by one the stars were dying
Ideas were no longer candles in gale.
The final thought of liberty demanded
a tribute to partners in revolt.

I wanted a sunlit corner
in the blighted sky of hopes.
Instead of scorched impulse of a mob
injured truth, walking alone.

Give me a bitter fruit of certainty.
I don’t want to loose myself in fogs.
The truth must meet the lie-
alone, in woods of craft.

liczba komentarzy: 0 | punkty: 0 | szczegóły

Satish Verma, 26 kwietnia 2016

Valley Of Tears

Beyond the gaze there is a time zone
of rumored agitation
when you cannot sleep.
You open your eyes quietly to complain.

The caretaker has prepared the shroud.
Smoke is rising on the hills.
No body walks with you,
it is a lone journey, where
centuries throw the dust on your hallowed gifts.

The pyramid of signs, symbols, signatures,
disappear in penultimate flare.
Time to leave the waiting room.

The resurrection will take place now;
of fear; of despair; of foot steps in dark.
I will hear them, holding my breath.

Landscape will change into valley of tears.

liczba komentarzy: 1 | punkty: 1 | szczegóły

Satish Verma, 25 kwietnia 2016

Laughing Skull

Name was more beautiful than the face.
It was charisma of night.
A dream without the eyes.

Laughing skull on the road
opens a wound,
and dying footprints were neither consenting
nor refusing.

A faticity clamps the flow of blood,
I was counting the stitches,
somewhere the pain was reappearing.

Interpersonal hate had a story to tell:
greed, anger and bullets.
The legs were chopped off from truth.
He was not faithful to sun.

In my heart lies a trapped river.
Its history is old, its water was humble.
Uncontaminated was the knock on the door
to a melting of white snow.