poetry

poetry
Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 february 2021

A Broken Chain

A dumb copy of me.
You were done for.
Sometimes the design goes awry.

Ptosis. You are called for―
a fall. But you refuse
to die.

You survive the clouds, the
first moon, the brown eyes.
Me before the sun.

Let us take a risqué humor.
Forget each other
and become strangers.

One intentional error.
Honey, honey, honey.
Bees ready to fly away.

The shrine of a flier.
Where it was?
I was searching the sea.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 february 2021

Emotional Resonance

Sorcery comes handy
when you start
beheading the sunflowers.

The mountain goes bald,
qualifies for the
murder. I set a bronze-

lover on the pedestal to
arrest the muffled
voices, coming from silent cries.

The grace was missing
from the artifacts, you pluck
from the freezing lips.

Stones are falling.

Millions of words.

No meaning.


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George Krokos

George Krokos, 19 february 2021

Simple Observation 153 - If we could only....

If we could only remember the past clearly and reflect on it a little more
we may learn certain things, to help us now, from what we did before.
_______________________


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George Krokos

George Krokos, 19 february 2021

Quatrain 164 - The rivers of the world....

The rivers of the world all tend to flow toward the sea
and the love of the lover with the beloved longs to be.
In merging and uniting our sense of separateness disappears
and that feeling of oneness experienced removes all our fears.
___________________________


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George Krokos

George Krokos, 19 february 2021

On Social Distancing and Self Isolation

These days there's so much emphasis
on social distancing and self isolation
it seems the authorities are taking a
hint from me with all of that regulation.
Though it's obvious to note we're told
to do it because of the corona virus;
well, it just so happens I've been doing
that for years, without all of the fuss.
But, whether we like to admit it or not
all people carry with them their own
type of contagious something or other
defining their life by which it's known.
__________________


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George Krokos

George Krokos, 19 february 2021

Better Off From The Start

We'd all be so much better off from the start
if we attained to a clean mind and pure heart
'cause they work together well but not so apart
and our lives would end up being a work of art
finished by an accomplished artist at their craft
who'd also be highly regarded prior to the draft
on a blank canvas of our life's unfolding drama
without anything to hinder the superb panorama.
___________________


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George Krokos

George Krokos, 19 february 2021

Backyard Cemetery

In the confines of the house's backyard
there are no marked graves at all to see
but an attempt will be made by this bard
to relate according to personal memory
of some creatures buried therein to be.

Over the course of many years gone by
various creatures have been laid to rest
in the soil of the yard's ground to comply
with an improvised simple funeral blest
by a short little prayer to end their quest.

There were a couple of cats it is recalled
one of them was within the property born
though with the other memory has stalled
which is not surprising and hardly forlorn
to blame or point at with a finger of scorn.

Then there were also a few local birds
mainly sparrows that were regularly fed
which flew all around and dropped turds
being a little distressing to find any dead
some due to after eating crumbs of bread.

They were preyed upon by neighbors' cats
and left for dead when they were disturbed
in their instinctual appetite that included rats
when by humankind were scared and curbed
due to their wild nature's feast so perturbed.

Then on occasion also mice would run free
which were seen coming through the fence
and when at times chased scurried up a tree
where they would hurry to get away thence
a similar burial applied if found dead hence.

It'd be so incomplete here not to mention
all those spiders and insects that had died
in some way or other due to a pretension
that their annoying habitual nature implied
to be poisoned or squashed in their stride.

They have all been buried in the backyard
in various places there that are not marked
laid to rest in the ground either soft or hard
under where others had roamed and barked
in the distant past after they were all carked.
________________


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 february 2021

One Black Summer

I break myself
today, angry with me,
for small things.

Not able to finish
the track, I will sell now―
my dreams.

How do I turnaround,
to seek my aching legs,
for the fear of climb?

The call of the peaks,
in deep ocean,
for an asylum?

Why did it happen to
unhappen, when you were
fighting like a lynx with fate?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 february 2021

What Else Does It Mean

You did not tell me―
what did you want?

Departure was sad,
unceremonious, escaping
an epitaph.
My legs become heavy.

Unthinkingly, you
write on the wall with foggy hands.
The silhouettes tremble.

Who will break this
infernal cycle of reincarnation?
That means, we should redefine
the death.

Nonetheless
a creed is born.

You walk on the burning coals
to pick up the poppies,
a gift of torn love.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 17 february 2021

The Safe Journey

How not to feel
the rapture of the deep
after arousal of a centotaph.

Like losing a hand,
while groping for
light.

This was the sin
of the silence, not ready
to share the pain.

Do not invade the
private domain, when
you decide to abdicate.

Dishonesty was
intact. You will not
bargain for lies.

When you love,
You make it dirty.


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