poetry

poetry
Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 25 april 2019

Partition

My ultimate reply was 
my silence. There was― 
no need to ward off any 
further questions. 
 
It was time to take 
a call of the ominous. Clouds 
are dark and menacing. You 
wanted the poverty of words to go. 
 
But it enters again by back door, 
standing along with you. The 
great divide begins. The day 
was on edge over sick patriarchy. 
 
You will not get the fruits 
nor seeds. Yet the cacti do not 
need any propagation. Full 
of spines, they are hardy. 
 
A fake formula is being put 
forward. Let there be a 
collective suicide to save 
the floundering world. 
 
But I would not agree.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 24 april 2019

Spelling Out

Half milk water and 
half water milk. 
The predators were happy. 
 
How would you, 
justify a self kill, in the 
sea of medusae and whales. 
 
That was not only 
warts and all. There were holes 
in the golden bucket, 
 
and fount was dry. 
The glass house. This 
concept gives a jolt. 
 
You cannot change 
the masks. Deaf and 
dumb.the sky was deaf and dumb. 
 
You refuse to divulge the 
name of assassin.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 23 april 2019

Sulking Alone

Drum-beats were coming 
nearer. The lineage is being questioned. 
Archaeopteryx is being kicked. 
upward. It was too slow; 
was not able to fly. 
 
Things are not moving, as you 
want them, in romantic 
relationship with the road. 
 
A madness permeates. The 
acolytes were busy in playing 
the act, that all wars 
will never come to end. 
 
Anointing the salt smell as 
savior, after the shadow-boxing. 
The sparring must continue― 
to find out the catwalk. 
 
The ramp was going upward.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 22 april 2019

Strange Dreams

The icon, 
is a smoky gem, 
like a random stone, hiding 
a jewel. 
 
You become an ex; 
throwing the gauntlet 
over the frozen 
shoulder. 
 
Everything glides 
around you. I am sinking 
in Bermuda Triangle. 
 
The trembling hands 
groping for― 
the coral reef under the water. 
 
The tiger will not 
sleep tonight. You cannot 
shut the eyes, when 
I am being pit-roasted.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 april 2019

The Time

There was a lapse 
before the fall of moon. 
I am standing in dark. 
 
A wolf a day was 
enough to eat me. The digital 
pain seeps in the 
sad ceremony. 
 
Someone buries 
the hatchet in stars far away, 
wearing the black mask. 
 
I steal your poeny. 
Your velvety voice for the 
sake of wronged yellow. 
 
A candle burns 
in the white room, bereft 
of any trappings.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 april 2019

Fake Encounters

When the surveillance increased, 
the curtains started 
falling. You were ready to 
start the dialogue with death 
holding off your hunger. 
 
Each face had its history 
scripted on the forehead. Dark is 
after all dark. You unroll 
the night-black lace and 
confront the moon. 
 
Under the old banyan tree 
a dream lies with limbs tied. 
A mob smears the vermillion on its body 
and then starts lynching it. 
I have only one question. 
 
Why were we towed on 
wrong leads for tallest peak?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 april 2019

Not Invoking

This attitude rattles 
me. Silence has― 
become very vocal. 
 
The body does not listen 
now. A knife 
has become celibate. 
 
The unsung hero was 
untainted and pure. 
It was the veil, which was corrupt. 
 
Are you ready for 
the hang? The wrists cut 
open were not bleeding. 
 
The jewel of the fire 
does not burn. Even the 
purple hemlock is very sweet.


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absynt

absynt, 18 april 2019

PRZED NAMI WSZYSTKO

Mógł­bym wznieść się na wy­ży­ny, do­po­wie­dzieć coś lub nic.
Sama wiesz, jak łatwo ukła­dam słowa, któ­rych nie ro­zu­miem.
Matka, czy­ta­jąc Toł­sto­ja, ocza­mi wy­obraź­ni wi­dzia­ła nie­uda­ne
życie — długo przed na­ro­dze­niem spra­wia­łem kło­po­ty,
nie dając spać.
 
Doj­rze­wa­nie prze­ga­pi­łem, do­ro­sło­ści nie było — wraz z erek­cją
wkro­czy­ła skry­ta tę­sk­no­ta, zmik­so­wa­na rze­czy­wi­stość, żar
cie­ka­wo­ści, któ­rej tak się boję. Przy ko­min­ku roz­kra­czo­ne cie­nie,
żar­tu­ją, stra­szą, ja — w ra­mio­nach zie­lo­nej damy — ucie­kam.
 
Każdy ma swoje dzi­kie pola, dzie­wi­cze po­kła­dy za­ufa­nia.
Miej­sca na­zna­czo­ne po­tycz­ka­mi, chwi­lą ciszy, bło­go­stan
sa­mot­no­ści. Tam­ten czas — sza­leń­stwo. Zbyt łatwo kła­dłem
głowę pod topór, gra­łem. Teraz tań­czę. W środ­ku nocy ode­szła
na­chal­ność i cy­nizm, po­zo­sta­ła skaza,
 
za­ciek na su­fi­cie, i po­dar­ta rę­ka­wicz­ka. Nie mam pytań,
nie­na­wiść to so­lid­ne imię. Zo­bacz, dama w pierw­szym
rzę­dzie wciąż klasz­cze. Wra­ca­my do ko­rze­ni. W końcu mogę
za­pro­sić rudą na jej ulu­bio­ną ko­lej­kę: kto pierw­szy. Upić się i
od­wlec seks. Za­nu­rze­ni w cie­kłym krysz­ta­le
po­chła­nia­my świa­tło.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 april 2019

Fangs Open

Aghast at the― 
burning brutality and domination 
of the glaring sun, I will 
ask the moon, when will 
it release the hormones. 
 
A palm size, 
unscripted poem, struggles 
to come on the surface; 
pulled between the moon 
and the sea. 
 
The libidinal instinct, 
overtakes the activist. A newly 
minted face throws the shadow; 
equivocal. The traffic of 
poppies will freeze in the tracks. 
 
Here are the keys and 
there were the locks.
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 17 april 2019

Exasperation

Even the tree enters its shade. 
It was very hot this 
summer, while walking in moon. 
 

 
Sleeping under the cacti 
and talking to God. Do you 
know the ecstasy of pricks? 
 

 
This was my total wealth, 
the verses. I cannot spend on you, 
Oh my god, what an idea?


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