poetry

poetry
Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 27 february 2017

Blue Mountains

The lesson 
of sudden fall 
and forgotten kiss. 
 
Everytime I was afraid of me 
unforgiving the gorge 
of blue mountains. 
 
When I usher you in sun 
you flare up in color violet-green 
I stay in ebony's arms - 
 
with eye spaces 
and everything turns water, 
water of a lake. 
 
I will not remember the shooting 
stars when you are beside me. 
Drifting curves had left behind 
 
the seeds, planted under the moon. 
Now they are exploding 
one by one in the conch. 
 
 

 
 
Tending to my pain 
when you were unborn 
O my poem 
 
how you lay on me 
asking for the whole truth 
which would undo the helix 
 
in eye long vision. 
If the loneliness smiles 
I will call you. 
I will call you.
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 26 february 2017

Silence Unsaid

You will not abandon me, 
but kill me gently 
reciting a hymn. 
 
As if the speech was slurred, 
after the encounter. 
Time. It was not yours, not mine. 
 
Punctuated again in 
less moon, 
I am searching the frozen lake. 
 
Unuttered gratitude. I 
will not submit the ultimate. 
Barrier reef was rising. 
 
I sit alone 
down the lane. 
Waiting for the sunset.


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Joe Breunig

Joe Breunig, 25 february 2017

Poem: Objective Morality

Do we need to debate an argument
of objective morality, to prove
God’s existence? Can’t we look…
upward towards the sky and beyond,
to clearly observe a magnificence
of His, spectacular handiwork?
 
Are we nothing more than animals,
stuck in a plague-filled universe
of endless, ruinous destruction?
Are certain levels of violence
deemed acceptable and necessary?
Are we seeking excuses… to shirk
 
away from the responsibilities
of being our brother’s keeper?
Can our human actions be judged
simply, as either good or bad,
to match our current disposition?
Can any of our behaviors work
 
favorably, to move us from a state
of chaos to one of divine peace?
Is Love and self-sacrifice genuine?
Or should we just live with a sad
realization, that we prefer to act
badly as only… inhumane jerks?
 
 
 
Author notes
 
Inspired by:
Gen 4:9, 6:5; Jer 17:9; 1 John 4:8
 
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
 
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2017, All rights reserved.
 


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Joe Breunig

Joe Breunig, 25 february 2017

Poem: Shalom

With the Hebrew letters of MEM,
VAV, LAMED and SHIN, one finds
an inner meaning overlooked by
most people; it also condemns
 
those who are following Satan.
Although its primary influence
is a declaration of serenity  
and peace, souls may be shaken-
 
as they learn about the prayer’s
prophetic nature; its numeric and
pictographic language contributes
another, sizable spiritual layer
 
to its foundational definition.
At its core, it translates to:
“Destroy all authority connected
with any chaos and confusion.”
 
 
 
Author notes
 
Inspired by:
1 Cor 14:33  and (שָׁלוֹם)
Shalom (in Hebrew)
 
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
 
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2017, All rights reserved.
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 23 february 2017

A Love And Hate Story

I was learning, how 
not to catch you. 
 
Called the cloud 
hugging a hillside. 
Can you climb on the road? 
No, it said, I want to play with the moon. 
 
So, 
this was becoming, 
without presence. 
An epiphany? No it was a crying 
theme, discovery of the self. 
 
When the tremors came, 
you were flung like a doll, 
opening the earth 
one breath long. 
 
Swallows were eyeing the sky. 
 
 

 
The hollow tree 
traps the light and sends out 
the blue pupils of yellow eyes. 
 
I am still counting the limbs 
under the boulders. 
The landmass was moving asking names. 
 
The big vulture was watching 
the end of the feast, 
for schizophrenics. 
 
A bomb hidden in turban will 
kill a saint. You say I should 
call for the girls. 
 
Why don't you wear the skullcap 
to cover the beautiful mind 
which will not kiss the fire?
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 22 february 2017

Solitudes

The questions hang like skin tags. 
A broken mirror, stabs 
during birth of time. 
 
We have got to do it, save it 
in its infancy, before it is submerged 
along with the temple of fake gods: - 
 
before it is plagiarized by the 
polity. The wives were fattening 
on art of running the state 
 
from behind the curtains. Would 
you like to sign on my skin? 
Your death wish? I am washing 
 
my sins today. It is bit cold 
here in the blue lake of tears. Now 
you can hold my arm for final plunge.
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 february 2017

Millstone

They were decapitated 
in winter. 
To send forth again, fresh, 
the green twigs of summer. 
Trees of roadside. 
 
My friends, I used to talk 
to them in my morning walk. 
 
Once I sat under 
a wishing tree for a divine feel. 
There were lots of colored threads 
tied round the massive trunk. 
I wanted to arrive in the neighbourhood 
of absurd escapes of a 
fake religion. 
 
My footfalls on stairs were becoming 
louder, lugging the wasted life. 
It was time now. 
To understand the deep shadows 
of unanswered questions.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 february 2017

Night Light

That cameo was my secret grief. 
He will make you sing, 
the hooded moon. 
 
Not a sacred thing 
Kissing the toes of a traveller 
for fecundity. 
 
In doorway it was between 
us and them for bargaining 
for Dahlias. 
 
Lips unkissed will call for 
honey from bees. 
Eyes will srarch for a candle. 
 
In alien land of flames 
and tumultuous desires, 
the golden breasts will take revenge.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 february 2017

Listening Schubert

Changing thoughts 
were creating chaos in frenzy, 
unabashed, following the stricken 
prey, to reclaim 
the violence of a stalker. 
 
Was there any law of jungle? 
Or rule of law in the midstream 
of a formless prosthesis, 
gaping void, throwing up 
a primordial fear. 
 
Becoming tired of looking at 
the wastes around. No mystery 
was left in life. How often you 
will sit on the pyre to ignite the high 
priests of knowledge? 
 
The curved images of receding 
years are disappearing. How long 
you will wait, 
how long?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 february 2017

Gyrations

I am lifting 
your blood-soaked shirt 
giving the latitude to planet 
which broke the law. 
 
The elite 
wants to know, why you were 
still here, when steam was rising 
in golden night? 
 
An extended 
grief overtakes the wind 
in the flute. You become a free man 
walking naked. 
 
The gyres 
were calibrating the magi. 
An empty niche waits for a Buddha 
to take the re-birth.
 


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