poetry

poetry
Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 17 october 2017

It Was Time

Did you know 
what was the time? 
O, watchmaker, 
trapped in your own shadow, 
you were yourself a fugitive. 
 
Leaky ethics. 
Standing on the edge of 
sunken earth, you were facing 
an inevitable fall. 
Do not take a flight, O time. 
 
Walk with me. I did’t want 
to lead you. Why were you 
holding on to chaste buds. Birds 
were gone. The gravitational 
pull will find the targets. 
 
Ah, the molested 
intelligence, now wants, no compensation.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 16 october 2017

Something To Grieve

Facing an imminent 
onslaught of apparitions, I 
wanted an excuse, 
to write a poem. 
 
Staying raw, 
in this dark, can I see your particle 
face? Drop by drop you 
moved away. Between – 
 
you and me was a blue 
lake. Shall I undo your 
percussive existence, brutalizing 
the wings, the peaks? 
 
An Aryan pride? Why 
not we walk back home 
hand in hand, under the black 
sky and a summer moon.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 15 october 2017

Step By Step

Are you questioning yourself 
between right and wrong? 
Moon was watching 
solemnly. 
 

 
A cuckoo sings 
somberly. In a rainy morn. 
Why were you not coming 
for undoing a sin? 
 

 
The evenings are 
listless. Nothing to do, 
nothing to brood. 
Immaculate dying.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 14 october 2017

The Massacre

Arrange the foot-candles 
for candela. I am not 
going on back foot. 
Moon was not burning tonight. 
 
The real darkness descends. 
You brace yourself 
for a crude assault. 
Clouds are thinning out. 
 
You wanted to remove 
yourself from the Eros. 
Was it not egregious when, 
someone is shot when he was sitting quietly? 
 
An amorous saint? Will 
you be able to separate- 
sex from the violence? He was- 
a jester, just acting in a movie.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 12 october 2017

The Withering Blossoms

The guile demands 
some apology, 
from raw stings. 
 
Flirting with illegibility: 
Mercurially hot, 
there was a preempt strike. 
 
The monsoon comes late. 
You would wait for the 
wet encounter. 
 
Not seedy one; 
dragging a green wound. 
Ending sine die. 
 
The white salt 
on the lips will speak- 
the telltale marks, of crude assault. 
 
Who will surrender 
in the end, I will 
find out, covering my eyes.


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Tim Kitchen

Tim Kitchen, 12 october 2017

Angel

When I woke up this morning and I saw you lying there
with the sunlight through the curtains shining in your hair.
I looked at you lovingly, while you lay asleep
then leaned over to kiss you, gently on your cheek.
And I do believe it's true to say,
I think I have kissed an Angel today.

We sat together at the breakfast table, with talk of the day ahead
as always you had something to say, to help me clear my head.
The phone rang, one of the children, needing you again
you patiently talked and listened to her, taking away her pain.
And I do believe it's true to say,
I think I have spoken to an Angel today.

When I came home in the evening, at the end of a busy day
you were there at the door to meet me, in your usual way.
I’d never seen you more beautiful, in the clothes you wear
I held you close to kiss you, while my hand ran through your hair.
And I do believe it's true to say,
I think I have seen an Angel today.

Now as I lay beside you, as you sleep, in the dark of the night
I think how you always bring to my life, so much love and light.
Without your love I would be, like a candle without a flame
for the close ones, who share our love, it would be the same.
And I do believe it's true to say,
I think I have loved an Angel today.


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Tim Kitchen

Tim Kitchen, 12 october 2017

Intimate Strangers.

 
The poet still writes, the singer still sings
of love, romance and passionate things.
Yet intimate strangers you are today
standing close but seeming far away.
No longer lovers, just husband and wife
but it’s not too late to change your life. 
 
 
Togetherness can be a lonely place
if it’s just memories you embrace.
Just you two, the kids have grown
flown the nest for loves of their own.
Seems you’ve forgotten how to be
two hearts living in harmony.
 
 
But you can still be lovers too
it might just take a smile from you.
Some soft music, the lights down low
doesn’t matter how far you want to go.
Loving is not reserved for the young
it doesn’t have to be a song unsung.


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Tim Kitchen

Tim Kitchen, 12 october 2017

Alice

 
As Alice arrives at the Hospital door
a couple smile and say hello.
The girl who is heavy with child
asks which way they should go.
 
 
Alice leans over to reach him
to kiss him for one last goodbye.
A silent tear rolls down her face
as with sadness she begins to cry.
 
 
They’d been together a very long time
thinking they had more years to come.
But illness came and frailty ensued
now their life together is done.
 
 
After some time by his bed, she left
and on hearing a noise she smiled.   
Coming from a nearby maternity suite
it was the cry of a new born child.
 
 
She sees the same couple as before
next morning when collecting his things.
And smiles, as she sees their baby boy
as one life ends, and a new one begins.


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Tim Kitchen

Tim Kitchen, 12 october 2017

Faith.

 
My faith was never a beacon of light
more of a flickering candle at night.
My Father’s beliefs were always strong
perhaps somehow I got it all wrong.
In spite of those hymns I love to sing
for me it’s more a borderline thing.
 
 
But I see things in a different way
I don’t spend time praying each day.
For me God’s love is practical too
shared with others in the things we do.
Through help we give to those in need
whoever they are, whatever their creed.
 
 
A man lies bleeding in the dark of night
prayer won’t save him and make him alright.
A helping hand will, so that’s what I’ll do 
and he may feel God’s love there too. 
Maybe I’m right or maybe I’m wrong
but this is how me and faith get along.


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Tim Kitchen

Tim Kitchen, 12 october 2017

Where Wild Flowers Grow.

Children playing in the evening sun                                            
running around, just having fun.
Dogs chasing balls happy to play
rolling in the grass late in the day.
A couple sitting on the ground
trying not to make a sound.
Where so much happened, long ago
on the field where wild flowers grow.
 
This was a place long before
where men shed blood in a war.
A place of such horror and pain
where men fought and men were slain.
Living in trenches with blood stained pools
with weapons of war, their only tools.
It’s hard to imagine, long ago
on the field where wild flowers grow.
 
Fledgling birds are trying to fly
into the bright evening sky.
Someone there is trying to pray
children think it’s a place for play.
But you can still clearly see
where the trenches used to be.
Life is so different, than long ago
on the field where wild flowers grow.
 
An old man stands on his own
he seems content to be alone.
With tears rolling down his face
haunted by memories of this place.
He was here when he was young
cold and scared carrying his gun.
When life was harsh, long ago
on the field where wild flowers grow.


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