Satish Verma, 25 lutego 2023
Something was left behind.
I was collecting all the
dried roses for the prison of
eyes. I ask myself― what was that.
Something was left behind.
A black rose? Near the
smoked candles of poems? A
tiger lily, still had the blood spots?
Why do I forget the precious things?
Something was left behind.
I wait for the butterfly,
to wake, which had breathed
last between the tender
moments. Why do I want?
Something was to be left behind!
Satish Verma, 24 lutego 2023
Space versus time.
You blend in my singularily
I will meet my other self
in the black hole.
Counting my heartbeats
I will cleave to you, but I find
that only my shadow―
walks with me.
With minimal touch of
love. I discover the asset of
stupidity. Like feeble thoughts would
swap for stinging tentacles.
A bizarre equation appears.
The fearsome becomes a jelly
fish. I am trying to give
a name to quarks.
Satish Verma, 22 lutego 2023
Don't read;
feel the words. They weep
in full moon.
The hills were
moving. Trees wouldn't
wear the dresses.
I was not ready
for autumn. Can you come
back after the death
of hope?
The stalkers
stand in queue
to harness the dark energy.
The frills were
beautiful. Face was missing.
Satish Verma, 21 lutego 2023
Dying inch by inch
to catch you between the poems
before night ends.
Life changes words
without sounds and vowels.
You will not find truth.
Create a wound
for me to print image
of fall from honeycomb.
Satish Verma, 20 lutego 2023
Your memory returns
to listen to waterfall
and watch sunset.
Body speaks to soul,
interpreting eternity.
Something doesn't die.
Whom to call in dark
when you blow-off the lantern?
Hail the arrow man?
Satish Verma, 18 lutego 2023
Reaching the end of
life, are you ready to listen
when I don't speak?
The charisma of
gods was wavering, you will
smear the poles red.
Step by step moon
climbs down, the blue lake, for
last rites of blaze.
Satish Verma, 17 lutego 2023
Ready to barter my
last wish with your tulips
glowing in eyes.
I didn't ask for
any help to decipher my
blue dream of edge.
Two little words may
be sufficient to
resuscitate charm.
Satish Verma, 16 lutego 2023
Adoration short of
consonants, was a sin
of little gods.
My silent prayers
beseeched you again, like
humming raindrops.
Kiss my bodiless
sleep in sad poems, when
the scars of words start
moaning.
Not to wake pain,
I held your hand for
eternity to write my epic.
I fumble, I forget.
The days I don't fall
in love with thorns.
Satish Verma, 15 lutego 2023
Who was honest to
toes, to take a flight
like a legend?
Hearing the voices
in head, you appeared as
a gift in dark.
Was there any code
of silence, in feeling a
guilt of smiling
when hurt?
I was talking of
basic pain, like a jasmine
to cuddle when touched
by a moonbeam.
Satish Verma, 14 lutego 2023
Lunatic will
not go for adultery, like
a river which doesn't come
face to face with ocean.
Ink of genuine
poetry spills on the wings
of a dying butterfly that spreads―
out without bleeding.
The poet has nothing else
to say. It was a spirtitual
fault. Man tries to overrun
the god.
The raging viper, likes
the soul, to negate the thoughts
towards anonymity to read
the age of sun.
Regulamin | Polityka prywatności | Kontakt
Copyright © 2010 truml.com, korzystanie z serwisu oznacza akceptację regulaminu.
2 października 2024
Sarny w zagonach winorośliBelamonte/Senograsta
1 października 2024
Język mediówMarek Gajowniczek
1 października 2024
kawał drogiYaro
1 października 2024
0110wiesiek
1 października 2024
Są jeszcze chwile nadzieiEva T.
1 października 2024
PaździernikJaga
1 października 2024
OgrodnictwoBelamonte/Senograsta
30 września 2024
pierwsza randkasam53
30 września 2024
Jesienna sukienkaJaga
30 września 2024
Pierwszy przymrozekJaga