poetry

poetry
Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 june 2019

Change Of Life

Becoming wise to 
your faults. I will not wear 
any talisman. 
 
No fireworks were needed 
to celebrate the return 
of the sane fakir. 
 
Standing up― was the biggest 
ideal of the oppressed. I 
repeat the act. 
 
Taking the helm― without 
retribution― was a challenge 
thrown by the dark. 
 
I have come to be reborn 
in the name of symbols 
broken.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 june 2019

No Message

You have kept the 
script― to age in dark, 
silent night. 
 
Drawn into the upheaval, 
of grains― 
ready to strike the mouth. 
 
Nameless wheels were out 
to carry the gay pride. 
I am not amused of the day. 
 
Who was naturally― 
born― breathlessly, holding 
the flag, to spite the clan. 
 
A pink window was 
stolen from the green house. 
The light now burns black.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 june 2019

Will You Leave Me?

I did not mean to hurt. 
 
Do not try to flute― 
drinking the lianas, 
wearing a fatigue. Then comes― 
the shoot. Like a scarecrow 
I sway― the slug― passes through me. 
 
You ask me to turn over― 
the death mask― 
giving a smile. There was no 
reprisal. Must bring under reins― 
the pounding heart― I cannot talk. 
 
Alone to mend my grief, the 
scaled loss of bliss. Do not want to 
use any metal. Poverty becomes 
my strength. Fears will stand with me. 
I am empty like a glass.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 16 june 2019

Scattered Thoughts

Coming to an end the 
consecration. The land will 
not give you any god. 
 
Only the demons will come in your dreams. 
 
If it were window, the 
street will send the black 
noises in your house. 
 
I will not wait 
for snow-melting. 
The slum was going to be 
sliced off. 
 
Wet from the rainfall, 
the grain cannot be milled 
and you will not eat my sprouts. 
 
I cannot sail now. 
It must be very dark 
and the glossary 
very foul.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 15 june 2019

No Saviour

Out of ambit― you resume 
the surfing again― on 
yellow tulips― 
in misting valley. 
 
One who will not bless 
the seed― will sit 
in shadow of hunger. 
 
Do not touch the― 
impossible blue of the 
eyes, unhunted by the tears. 
 
Snare or be snared. If 
there was a flint and 
the steel― do you think the 
spark will be faraway? 
 
In silent night, I will open 
the crypt to have a look again― 
at the wornout cloak of a paragon.


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kipruto muthemba

kipruto muthemba, 14 june 2019

wild night

suddenly a knock,
with soothing intentions
snatches my attention,
from the movies’ detention
to you, standing at my door
deep in the night, i think it was four
breath-taking in your baggy sweat-pant
 breathlessly to my feet, erect i rise
ready to devour you to sunrise
so i pull you to me sensually
until am one with you sensuously
so close, i heard the music in your heart
and remembered that you are an art
looking at me, breaking me apart
into parts lost in your beautiful eyes
and the warmth of your faerie touch
stupefied and mightily aroused
i kiss your wet lips, and you taste like heaven
i caress your neck, and am all seven risen
clothes stealthily fall like they harm
but the sounds of the morning alarm
rudely kills our wild night


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 14 june 2019

Self-Portrature

A freak hailstorm of 
proposition, makes you― 
deaf and mute. The sex 
orientation― will not remain the same. 
 
It was not pink― it was not 
blue. A thunder breaks the 
roof― of calligraphy. A 
beautiful face― goes manic. 
 
About the harvesting― I 
would say ― it was all 
humbug. You can wear a gem 
in your eyes― and still not go stone blind. 
 
The prayer will have a 
summer wedding. All the― 
lavenders will bring all the 
blues and all the mauves.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 13 june 2019

The Dancing Tale

I do not remain happy 
with noises of wisdom. 
Time was running out on me 
to know myself. 
 
No sensory cognizance. I 
touch you with my invisible 
hands, stroking the hair 
to dislodge the moon. 
 
Ashes lay strewn. River 
was overflowing from the 
banks of limbs. I will not 
come near the unfathomable 
 
depth of a chasm, between 
good and bad. Out of the bed 
of roses a snake uncoils. 
Praise the dark. It in night.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 12 june 2019

The Dancing Tale

I do not remain happy 
with noises of wisdom. 
Time was running out on me 
to know myself. 
 
No sensory cognizance. I 
touch you with my invisible 
hands, stroking the hair 
to dislodge the moon. 
 
Ashes lay strewn. River 
was overflowing from the 
banks of limbs. I will not 
come near the unfathomable 
 
depth of a chasm, between 
good and bad. Out of the bed 
of roses a snake uncoils. 
Praise the dark. It in night.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 10 june 2019

Unbegotten

Shedding the knowledge 
I was aware of emptiness, 
that will allow me 
to watch from afar― 
 
the message coming from 
the locked doors. 
Getting nearer the gorge 
you want to look at your spitting image― 
 
in water. I hinge an old frame 
to find me in baby face. Did you 
see your future visits to 
cauldron of life? 
 
You never wanted to become 
a god of wayfarers. A tinge 
of stupidity was evident to renew 
your faults to remain human.


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