poetry

poetry
Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 1 march 2021

Faint Viberations

I want to be
eloquent, with myself―
to write a poem.

*

Do you have
a clean blade
as pure as a plum?

*

Not enough
were the seeds,
for green fingers.

*

A grivever―
comes back, to undo
the guilt of others.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 28 february 2021

Displacing The Milestones

Talking of myths,
in dichotomy of grace―
when somebody said that
the facts were loose truths.

Your faith slumbers―
when you are awake. And
you, my door of night, will
wear the tears of dawn.

Not sharing the loneliness,
when I was dispensing the
laughs amidst the grief
of hills. The trees, the slopes
and seeds― that will never bear
the fruits.

And there, I did't want
to celebrate my unwritten epitaph
after completing the life
of falls.

And the neighborhood still
sleeps when I decide to walk away
towards the dark.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 27 february 2021

Are You There

The wheels.
I decide to abandon―
the home.

*

The pain of darkness
returns. Wax
drips from a taper.

*

A sickle moon―
stirs,
my religion.

*

Deep anguish,
after the taste of
your own blood.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 26 february 2021

Undestined

This was an illegal kill
between you and me.
I will abdicate―
my headstone.

The black eyes keep on staring
at the orange wings.
Butterflies presage
the quake's qualms.

Very unsettled, I was,
against the odds. I was trying
to figure out my―
new passage.

Slaughtered with a sickle,
a faith lies―
bleeding, I bring out the
cannabis for peace.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 25 february 2021

Crossroads

At crisis of
inquiry, you search
the questions.

Life throws up a savage violence.
Bruising our psychies
we try to know each other.

At the end of the road,
we try to start a conversation.
There was a huge presence―
of some unseen force.

Much ado, looking
through each other. Would
you call me again?

Let there be a brutal
confession. I take back
my words and rewrite a poem.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 24 february 2021

Proving False

News runs faster
than the sun. It is
dark already.

You have started arresting
the shadows. I was still
talking to a rose.

Let's go somewhere. Where
no war cries are heard
for a day.

How many, will you―
count the dead? Each mortal
wants to go home.

The postcards, don't
arrive from the front
anymore.

Will you take my message
by the severed head.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 23 february 2021

Dragging The Clouds

And my love, when do we talk
of wilderness
and daisy blooms?

The snakeskin-
twirls, and I watch the
wriggling night moving away.

I swallow the
empty words. They are not
heavy and no concoction.

The body and desires.
I have let then slip away,
my dreams, my knocks.

Against the dying of
blueberries in your eyes,
I will not wash the stains.

The curve of umbilicus
still remembers the dazzling
fall.


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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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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 16 february 2021

In War

O Earth,
today, standing on your bones
I will study my fears.

I am talking to myself
to say everything, which I don't
mean, presiding over the violence.

Bullet-ridden I
will return your sorrow
to sky, hailing the stars.

From grief to grief
I walk pigeon-toed,
to explore the mines of seed thoughts.

In summer, you
offer the naked hands to me
to write the poem of the day.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 15 february 2021

Prayer In Message

There were no regrets―
from the life to lose the game.
Tell me, how can I forget
you, when flesh was melting
from the bones?

The poetics. This was not
the world, I had dreamed.
Sinkhole. You are swallowed alive.
The script was changing.
War allows to drop the morality.

Eye shamed. For your sake.
O God, I had loved your creation.
Why it had become dirty?
This was no more my property.
Take away the loaned apples.

It is the split,
the divide. I am walking
barefoot to feel the bygone dead
sacrifices.


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Paweł Szkołut

Paweł Szkołut, 14 february 2021

In café Mleczarnia

For K. & Ł.

On the pictures from the café in Kazimierz
we are sitting at the open front window,
the mirrored glasses reflect our shapes,
the flame of a candle and a yellow tulip,
chocolate is flowing down the white cup

we are talking about the origins of the Universe
and the atom’s construction,
about the mystical journeys to the East
and Tarkowski's films,
we dispute over the divine nature of Messiah
and gnostic ideas of salvation

experiencing everything anew
and constantly looking for our own way -
we open ourselves to the Logos’ action

the time is elapsing,
the faded portraits of old inhabitants
look at us from the walls,
the candle is dimming
and it becomes colder,
on the following pictures
we are sitting in the café’s back room

our hearts touch the opposite feelings,
we’d like so much from life - but we want also
to be free from our desires

in our heads there are still sounds
from the jazz concert at the club Alchemia,

outside it has silenced the noise from the Jewish square
- and thousands miles away
Jerusalem is plunged into a dream

the Logos is wandering among us,
somewhere in the distance we try to see
the royal outlines of his face

immortalized on the pictures
from café Mleczarnia
we are sailing through the spring night
to the promised land
or not

IV 2008



* Mleczarnia – (Eng.) dairy


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 13 february 2021

Ceremonial

Coming of age becomes
temporal, when
I start to speak.

It was my ancient wound-
which had come into being,
to bleed.

No mannerism,
idiosyncrasy or culture
was needed to stay dumb.

Time runs in a
narrow tunnel, to cross the enemy lines.
I will unmourn my death.

Like collecting the bluebells.
After the burial of candor,
there was no other ceremony.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 12 february 2021

Something To Happen

The ache of taking a
call, when my
book was burning.

I scramble to warn
the bees, not to
come near the sundew.

Words hide the
sticky floor. Walk prudently
to swap the hunger strike

for bread and wine,
as the fingerprints untangle
the mystery of desires.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 11 february 2021

Not Left Behind

I will keep on
looking back, when you would
not be there.

Trying to put it behind me, the
Moon-blind dysphoria.

The riddled moments. You
are badly hurt, but
would not say.

Bare-boned, in
the oasis of flesh.

The mankind―
why were you feeling let down
by animalcules?

Into the grave milieu,
you― sleeptalking, without
voice.

Trying to rekindle the
flames from the wet eyes.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 10 february 2021

Causing Intense Pain

Clouds had veiled
the waning sun.
A topaz.

A blast,
becomes quite blasé at first
then becomes green.

With envy, the moon
gives no light.
My faith tumbles.

Sometimes I ask myself.
Why did you cover
your sore spots?

As a perfect pretext
of buying peace
why did you go for the lies?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 9 february 2021

Warbirds

O Zero man! you come
with a continuous denial,
of thirst of war,
a habit, predation.

When would you cross the blood lines?

The night blooms.
Sucking stars, moon
and chaste boundaries.

Nothing moves in the
stillness of voice, words.
A green light floats.

When there will be peace?

en face, I was ready to
fold the words, the sky.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 8 february 2021

Lift The Death's Veil

Questioning yourself―
like a Spanish Inquisition.
Ruthlessly digging out,
the anatomy of arrogance.

No flavor. I speak
to myself of atypical
intolerance of a man in revolt.

The slavery of tongue will not go.

On the verge, the other
thought collapses. No longer
the heritage remains faithful.

Love suddenly becomes
stranger. You won't touch
yourself. The narcissism becomes suicidal.

The black song
empties the mind. You want to weave,
but air does not become green.

I stand alone. The cosmos
moves away.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 6 february 2021

Sparklers

Life, sex and pain were
of mundane existence.
From where to where, we
have arrived.

*

From a bridge to bridge
you cross the river
without touching the water.

*

When a nameless projectile
downs your flight
you fall like rags
from the sky.

*

A spider runs
on tiptoes
you wilt like mimosa.

*

The ink spills
an the sheet
hiding the code.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 4 february 2021

In Exasperation

Open the news paper
and find out that war has a set sequence
of going daily,
and has a negativity.

The physical shock, when
the earth trembles. Your body
becomes stone, hairs stand.
Light breaks through the twisted limbs.

I don't love the ritualism.
Time will not stay for you. My life
becomes your life. Sod
will receive the ashes of rage.

And you will delete the
presence, the touch, the dust
of departed fragrance. Once upon
a time, death used to be a song.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 3 february 2021

Undraped Souls

Inexplicable.
I run my own life, when
epicenter moves to periphery.

A drink of hemlock
from your purple― spotted eyes.
You want to squeeze the blue sky
in your chest.

Was I violating your
sanctum sanctorum, hidden
deep in crevices of ancient love?

Your voice was cracking up
hoarse, as I listened
in silence, concealing my
poem not to explode.

Wings become the tongue
flying off, like possessed
celebration of loosing
the glaze and becoming a naked mammal.

A cold-blooded laugh!


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 2 february 2021

Femina

It was the frontal assault
of brutal summer.
I waited for the rain
to come and fall on my neck.

There was no grief
between the aches.

In starlight, flitting
around in bushes,
fireflies,
you take me in twilight.

The vernacular nirvana
begins, till my moons squeeze.

It was not a stabbing
wound, to be picked up
by a poem in distress. Light
on light will speak

of femineity in dark.


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RENATA

RENATA, 1 february 2021

samiec alfa i szara mysz

Nastukał dzieci we wczesnych
latach dziewięćdziesiątych
ona jak krowa dojna
nie miała wyjścia ani słowa
do gadki

Fatalne warunki mieszkalne
absolutnie nie przeszkadzały
czapki z głów dla ojca
bo inaczej szarosinofioletowe
nogi o stołu

On gotuje on pracuje
on kasę trzyma
on ją dyma
tyle szczęścia w nieszczęściu
że wszędzie razem
sklejeni z krajobrazem
bezkrytycznie

Wciągnął ją w siebie
ona w jego niebie
on ją jebie
ona czy żyje nie wie


Gdy tak idzie za nim
nikogo nie poznaje
cieniem się staje
na świat patrzy
jego oczami

jak sarna niezdarna
pyta czy może się wysrać
czuje się zagubiona
trochę szalona
owca


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 1 february 2021

Afloat In Words

Would not move the things.
They had moved me.
I will never be the same.

Probably a time to learn,
listening to yourself. The
sensors didn't go wrong.

More often I will unroll
my candles and burn
them with my life.

Ripening old, in dry
fountains- waiting for
rains in songs of sorrow.

History does not repeat.
I am preparing myself
to start again writing my book.

Will not commit anything.
Standing in morgue
searching for my unclaimed face.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 31 january 2021

Afloat In Words

Would not move the things.
They had moved me.
I will never be the same.

Probably a time to learn,
listening to yourself. The
sensors didn't go wrong.

More often I will unroll
my candles and burn
them with my life.

Ripening old, in dry
fountains― waiting for
rains in songs of sorrow.

History does not repeat.
I am preparing myself
to start again writing my book.

Will not commit anything.
Standing in morgue
searching for my unclaimed face.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 30 january 2021

Taking A Form

Like a falcon
you dive with a notched nose.
There was an element
of absurd in your style.

Crushed under snow,
I would search my lost
shoes. The spirit to move on
wakes me up again.

The pursuit of perfect
truth in jungle of fake
excuses. I was wary
of animal grins.

Thugs, they have become
the stewards. Life was mystery.
Death sorts out the secret
of undying passions.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 28 january 2021

Autodidact

Will not donate
my bloodstained shirt.
It divides the cuffs.

The alphabet turns
around to watch the fall
of syntax.

Everynight I wait
for the moon to rise
from the crescent of golden eyes―

for another encounter
with a god, who
would not listen to soliloquy

of a rich begger―
sitting in the ruins of a temple,
he built of dreams.


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steve

steve, 27 january 2021

Never

You will "never" feel the same...
It pierced my heart.. with deadly aim,
I guess there's nothing I can do...
That will ever get me close to you,
My heart screams out... in silent pain...
Alone again... and in the rain,
Knowone hears me... no one cares...
And only "God", can hear my prayers,
Right or wrong... what I feel...
This broken heart... will never heal,
A hallow soul... now dwells in me...
Crying out... to be set free,
But I am shackled... to what I feel...
My heart is hostage... my fate is sealed,
Love will "never"... know my name...
For you will "never" feel the same.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 27 january 2021

Color And Shades Of Punta Cana

1.

Memories on edge
one after the other―
salted, dried and smoked.

On green sea―
in a sail boat.
You do not know, where to go.

Hot and humid night.
Half moon, sitting
on a royal palm.

2.

A violent sun
was rising. Knocking down
the unending music of night.

The purple flight
of fish, clams and crabs,
overrides. Tomorrow they would be
on table and white sand in your eyes.

The waves, come one by one.
To die on the receding shore.
Your hands tremble, holding the sea.

3.

China rose. Evergreen.
You will find its glory
petal by petal
at every step.

On a tropical beach―
at sensual dawn.
You come out
to pick up the poems.

Love is the arrival of carnations.
Do you mind the nameless pain,
When you walk Matilda?

4.

Earth breaks here
into palms, like spread hands
and hibiscus blooms.

I find the red lips
on burning globes.
of honeysuckle shades―

the sand, sky and moon.
They will meet tonight
at beach for parting kisses.


5.

Something climbs your bones
like an invisible wave
of primeval lust.

A blood feel―
from the pricks of Duranta,
the secret of land's native instinct.

6.

It falls like a quivering leaf:
the sultry night.
A salty wind slaps and tickles.

Walking under the royal
palms, escorted by
lined cycads.

Full moon hangs
overhead, watching the sensual
dance of light and shadows.

7.

The absolute stillness,
hisses. A vicious assault.
Your hands fly to ward off the evil.

A savage storm
of whirling thoughts―
uprooting the dream of wholeness.

8.

I spread rose petals
on your frame.
You smell―
like a garden.

Around the moons
I will draw the Caribbean sea
with a roving eye.

The lush green, your body
of domes and hairless seeds.
Skin starts burning like a peach.

9.

The flames
now leap. Sabotaging the surging blood.
A subtle and delicate presence begins.

The ism has a silent
fall. You can hear the turbulence
before the poem is born.

10.

The age
unwraps you.
Listening to the sounds of sea.
You are ready to face the ageless.

Time takes its
pound of flesh.
You bleed in grass.

Wind smears the pages with dust.
You were writing―
in praise of absence.

And when the full moon
gives a call, you
become speechless.

I have lost my home
again.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 26 january 2021

The Thick Skins

Anointed truth
had no path. Path
was the truth.

Not a play of
emotions. I am talking
about the transparent
leaves pressed in the books
of fake religions.

When there were
fireflies, you deleted the rains
and sapwood saved
the lip's blues.

You rolled around
the burning pyre. Flames were
embracing the dark lies,
about the brailled poems.

Perfectly in harmony,
Bach was being played by
a blind artist. Did you know it?

ShareShare The Thick Skins


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Renato N. Mascardo

Renato N. Mascardo, 25 january 2021

if love were a multiple-choice exam

tell me how you prefer this love

like a deep well where light cannot penetrate
where darkness with secrets becomes the norm

like a rivulet rushing down a slope
just to die a rueful death on the dry flat ground below

like an armchair ride that goes nowhere
a stationary rocker lulling you to sleep

tell me how you prefer this love

before you leap across the precipice edge
the instant when there is no return

before you fall head on and free hearted
through a cloud of unknowing
into the maelstrom that is love//

renato
sunday 24 january 2021


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 25 january 2021

Lake Huron On 4th July

Sun breaks
on green lake―
into myriad of white birds,
fluttering their wings.

In wet grass
you sink, inviting the black clouds,
to hear the echoes.

You follow the sunset
in a glass of wine,
to become complete again.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 24 january 2021

Gracefully

A lake walk,
in the forest of limbs.

Like the blind man said,
I can hear the truth.

It was more of a ritual
to sit in intense moonlight
when seagulls were stealing the sky…

And you will belong-
to the darkness, of unknowing-
self.

Knowing the inevitable end,
that will come, uninvited.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 23 january 2021

Grafting The Lichens

We are going back.
Let it be.
I will never know―
when will you arrive.

In the aloneness,
going blind to the playing
light, you prepare to drink
the darkness of noon.

Becoming dishonest will
not be possible for me.
The times are revengeful,
come back in black to fix the smiles.

Like water hyacinth, the
disquieting worries will grab
you and hound you to the white bones
and turn away.

Where the blood and
nerves went down? It was
no sin to rise and
stand against the sun.

ShareShare Grafting The Lichens


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 22 january 2021

Unknowing The Real

The founder will not find
the copper to cast the history.

It has not begun to hear
the farewell to summer.

Arms were coming out
to end the war, to seal the fractures.

Not my pen, not my tongue
will know the secret deals.

Frontiers are being redrawn,
between the guns and the books.


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Renato N. Mascardo

Renato N. Mascardo, 21 january 2021

awakening

january 20

hope in hibernal
unrepose finally stirred
from its nightmareland
of carnage and frenzied rapture
of trumpery waking up
to a new day at noon//

renato
20 january 2021


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 january 2021

Collapsing

He wants to revert
back to mutism.
No thyme―
no secrecy.

The half-baked pursuit
of non-violence,
accepting the violence,
on other way round.

The otherness.
You want to identify yourself
with a new religion.
Terror of anonymity?

A night blooming cereus
wanted to avoid the sun.
And love, must you
play desert?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 january 2021

The Enabler

You come to me formless,
to claim your dues―
of whispering poems.

At sharp cliff,
what was your dream―
destiny of taking a long fall?

The rising smoke dissolves
the boundaries, when you
fondle the dark for some pulse.

The final gift arrives
of tears, within reach
of the implosion.

Along the boulevard
a flight of swans―
sails for another lake.

I lift my hand for final salute.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 january 2021

Unabated Rage

A poem
borrowed from the roses
sits today on my lips.

Crowded with pricks
at night, words move
around the flickering flames.

Thoughts.
They fly like sparrows
encircling the mind.

The sky falls. Import
of faceless assaults thickens. Red
poppies bloom in wheat fields.

White mushrooms,
come up in summer to complain
against the muted surrender of clouds.


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Renato N. Mascardo

Renato N. Mascardo, 19 january 2021

each little loss

with each little loss

not a portent of total ruin
or a herald of perdition
each minor separation

a note kept in the inbox
too long a reply idling
in the draft box a friendship
going slowly to seed

slow slow
tau proteins accrete
united they stick they
entangle fibrils in the brain
letting go the recollection
of a face perhaps
the remembrance of a smile
slow slow

no need
no urgent need to haste
to bridge the breach so tiny
when you still can hear
the sound of her laugh
savor her humor
marvel at her wit
no need
no urgent need

each day
becomes an inertia
sluggishly entangling grows
a memory peels off
seeds your garden of remembrance
leaving confusion behind
still there is tomorrow
no need to hurry
with each little loss//

renato
monday 18 january 2021 (mlkjr day)


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 january 2021

Missed Adventures

The waves
had brought me to you.
Do not be gentle to time.

Lower the songs
into a mass grave,
as the violence spreads.

This time-travel
will take you to panic attacks.
Blackness moves very fast.

Hypoxia.
Photons will take you
to fading sun.

Glitterati,
now hurts. You cannot
haul the gift of reeds.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 17 january 2021

In Quiteude

I walk towards you-
till it hurts.

In moment of nemesis
I set you free,
and deceive me.

You look beyond me
and become blind for the road.
Life starts drifting away from
each other to discover the meaning
of truth.

We may not meet again,
behind the faulted moon,
groping for light.

You always knew-
I was not you. A miniature
vice- religion apart,
had become a river between us.

I won't swim again.
Buddha smiles with alacrity.

ShareShare In Quiteude


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 16 january 2021

Unhooked From Space

The cat had the feral
look. The home was
burning. Drag of
day to day dying
unceremoniously.

Nowadays the god lives outside
the temple. You don't have patience.
Some zealotry?
A siren song?

I was not in any trinity
of god, man and beast.
On the remote trail you will
find my blood-soaked footprints.

Instead of emptiness
I have filled myself with grief.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 15 january 2021

Of Heaven Aside

The intimate god,
versus the body of slain faith,
was not ready to bring in the rains.

What quality was the substance
in shadows, while you were
reigniting the inquest?

The space was shrinking
noiselessly. The nest―
was crowded. You would not

place your frame on the wall.
This happened, which
was, not supposed to happen.

The eyes don't blink.
You are looking straight in the
glass of elegy. Why coming and going

of a name should affect the masses?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 14 january 2021

Do Not Throw The Stones

Living in a wax palace
and deliberately―
firing it.

The beseeching fault
of life. It demands pure
blood.

Self-consciously I
pick up the glossy cowries,
with beautiful patterns
and play my childhood.

How come, the style
remains the same as that
of a butcher or a saint?

The humiliating defeat
in the hands of a dirty character―
becoming a class.

The cradle rocks. A new―
born theme is thrown out.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 13 january 2021

Of Revenge

Half night of insomnia
half night magma
you never go quiet.

Tremors of blaze
enter the veins.
Moon was crazy.

The graveyard.
First you dig up the hole.
Shot, then you are tossed inside.

A copper in the tank,
you sleep past the belly.
Vessel in vessel, you are dead.

Like a relic, you carry
your head, looking chasing
the cottonwood tree.


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RENATA

RENATA, 12 january 2021

wielka miłość =dramat

przyszedł nie wiadomo skąd
zadziwiająco boski
uzależniła się
zdana na jego łaskę i niełaskę
jak pies na kiełbasę

wprowadza się mówi mam kasę
jakieś zaskórniaki jakiś spadek
mieszka i nie płaci
jest połączeniem boga z diabłem
i najwyrazniej długo trwa czasem
spadanie ze schodów

zalękniona mysz
rozbrojona do granic
szmacona za nic
i nawet zmuszana
do pracy w knajpach
gdzie łapią za dupę
chamy przygłupie

pięść spadła pod oko
kiedyś z grubą warstwą pudru
padło przepraszam
teraz czarne okulary usiłowały
przykryć grozny obrót sprawy

on kocha jak wariat
często komisariat
dołki kopie
lecz ona szalona
znów ze schodów spadła

ktokolwiek wie że spada pięść
reaguj
nie czekaj następnego razu
złe miejsce cztery ściany
mysz ducha wyzionie
a niedżwiedz pijany


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RENATA

RENATA, 12 january 2021

ta trzecia

jego głos jego dotyk
chwile uniesień
całkowite przepołowienie

słodkie usta słodkie kłamstwa
chwile wiary
pustka czekania

mógłby być rozerwany
na dwie części
obietnicy nie spełnił

żona z rakiem gryzie ziemię
niech jej zresztą lekka będzie
on miał teraz być już całkiem tu
a mimo wszystko zwiał
bo jak zawsze ta trzecia oszukana


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RENATA

RENATA, 12 january 2021

historia serca warta

Byłaś serca biciem
wiosną latem życiem
lecz gdy Twoja gwiazda zgasła
pojawiła się Zuzanna

Przyciągnęła serce nitką
do kłębka
choć była zamężna

mąż francuz zazdrosny
śmiercią grozi w desperacji
kochanek się śmieje
wszak to niepoważne

Nad Zuzanną klątwa ciąży
czy to może zabobony
była serca biciem
Harlekinem

ktoś próbuje przewidzieć
echo zbrodni niesłychanej
osiem kul dostał kochanek
i ona się rzuciła ta przyczyna

własnym ciałem zasłoniła
nie przeżyła
mąż poszedł na komisariat
zabiłem człowieka powiada


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 12 january 2021

Losing Oneself

What would you give
when I ask for nothing?

A mysterious lineage
of the soul. It has no sequence,
no flesh, no body.
I was heading towards the edge.

Did you know the perfect
no home? It has no crumbling walls,
no hurting windows. The gray roof of sky?

The earth, the damaging
winds. An hour of awareness
in wait. You start
exploring jinxed mind,

hearing voices, but no words.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 11 january 2021

The Blue Lake Burns

When the roaring tiger
was behind the bars, there was
this otherness. So much voiceless
was that, it had wounded me.

Your life had entered my
dome to meet its darkness, my
sky, my moon and the
riot of color begins.

By unbecoming, dying
in every home, to write the
script of desire, you will take
the path, where my marrow went down.

The clocks, on every wall
to remind me the moving time.
Will you wait for the explosion
to stop the trembling hands?

Not giving an answer you shut the door.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 10 january 2021

The Golden Dust

The other day.
A full moon was walking
on the pavement
like a pedestrian.

I was dumbfounded
at the sight of the imperial walk.
To give a poetical start?

Was it a pin drop visual
with no sound? Only night
was listening to footfalls?

I would not know of,
the journey of ending
or ending of journey.

Like death burning
inside the seed, or a golden
flame becomes a lapping machine?


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RENATA

RENATA, 9 january 2021

zima

Płatek za płatkiem
inny światek
mrozny biały
nierzeczywisty doskonały

Płatek za płatkiem
sypie śnieżny puch
idą w ruch
lasy łąki drzewa
pełne bladych płatków z nieba

jak kasza manna
jak rosa poranna
jak srebrne konfetti
jak w baśni o królowej śniegu

za płatkiem płatek
jak opłatek
wyciągaj sanki
lepimy bałwanki

za płatkiem płatek
i już cała zaspa śniegu
wiatr wieje w biegu
zamiecie wymiecie
śmiecie
zmysły rozbłysły
w umyśle
z rozmysłem

biegnijmy w zimę


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 9 january 2021

Vagaries

Intimacy in dark
carries the emptiness,
pauses in the way-
under the faint moon.

A homeless bird heads towards
the lake.

Passiflora.
The flowers remind you
of crucifixion.

The human loss was intense.
The fire within, extinguished.
No stone was ready to move.
Do you want the sound to be on?

The firmness now starts
melting. A holy river caresses
the bridge. Shores tremble.


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Renato N. Mascardo

Renato N. Mascardo, 9 january 2021

falling leaves

forty eight

the years since
we parted

you went your way
so did i

between then and
now

things and nothings
happened
and did not

leaves lucent and dark
have touched
our heads and hearts

we’ve seen the glitter
of lights so brief
we’ve felt the touch
of shadows so long

laughs and sobs
our ears have hearkened
our tears have washed

yet we are
you and i
after forty eight
still here//

renato
friday 8 january 2021


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 6 january 2021

Wary Of Tomorrow

A moth love was evolving,
without a flame.
You are going to bang the wall.

It was too early
to sing aubade. Night was
still rolling on the leaves.

A tall tree failed,
to send the message of moon drop.
How will I read my palm now?

At funeral, a crowd
waits for the bride. The groom
jumped off the dam.

No music was left
between the lips. Angst
was palpable in stumps.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 5 january 2021

Flying Woes

The cat was finally
dead.
After a professional cut.

An infant injury
of the cadaver, will not speak

of the dead river, of elegy.

No life-
after the rite of passage.
You are confined in a coffin
buried in ice-
in north and south.

The space shrinks
between the screams.
A syncope overshadows the moon.
The howling starts.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 4 january 2021

Nobody Was Innocent

You were not facing
the facts to defeat yourself-
with palm leaves wiping
away the stains of moon.
The confessions were not
valid in light. Darkness will
decide the fate of an exhibitionist.
In the game of survival,
onlookers become strangers.
You will not stand on your feet.
Invisible hands clap.
Sometimes we don't talk and look eyeful.
I have nothing to begin today
nothing to finish.
The sea swells up without a storm.


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RENATA

RENATA, 3 january 2021

ofiara-jej sława w jego gaciach

Niejedno dziewczę
zaczyna karierę
od nóg
dociera tam nie jeden
bóg
anioł i zwierzę
mieczem
nacierając na raj

Ofiara bo ładna
bo chce dotrzeć
na szczyt
a roztrzaska się
o kant dupy

Dietę masz księżniczko
tylko białe i kieliszek
a nogi szerzej mocniej
bo pan chce dotrzeć
do głębi oceanu

Ten i ów morderca
rozumu i kobiecego serca
straszy głowę od strony dupy
a w hotelowych łóżkach
na ścianach i suficie
trupem śmierdzi życie


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Renato N. Mascardo

Renato N. Mascardo, 3 january 2021

partying in pestilence

at the next reunion

(for jh bacaling)

at the next reunion
when and where ever such
will be/ shall we claret and
champagne with panache
with abandon at the rave

or shall we be deliberate
at the next reunion
quaffing corona the lager
not the bug to such a precogitated
state of divine tipsiness

that we labialize vowels
gutturize sibilants all with a grin
at the next reunion
while we confabulate shared yesterdays
inebriated tonights hungover tomorrows

so we wait for the fete to come
with bated breath and bateless patience
when we can drink our mugs of corona
the lager not the bug undaunted unmasked
at the next reunion

but if
non compos mentis
sets in before then
all bets are off//

renato
saturday 2 january 2021


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 3 january 2021

Hauntingly

Sometimes the unholy fears
come obliquely-
from the scorpions.

Tongue tastes the salt of spilled
hate. You execute the hooded anxieties,
creating a cadaver pyramid.

Stich-open-stitch. Cobra
in the bush. Awesome colors of eyes
Brown-blue-green.

I am not going to kiss
the chillies. Burning hot lips.
The contours were enticing.
I shut my eyes for a weird encounter.

The floors pulverized. I still
stand in mud, on my own.


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Renato N. Mascardo

Renato N. Mascardo, 2 january 2021

in the absence of light

sensory

two pupils rotate
behind their lids
the two dilate
behind their shutters vainly
in the dark

two nostrils expand
inhaling the aroma
of her neck
the nose tip digs into the musk
in the dark

the pliant tongue slides
across and lingers
on each of her moistened lips
its tip basking in her yielding firmness
in the dark

the pupils finally
no longer stray
remain still at last
content in their imaginings
in the dark//

renato
friday 1 january 2021


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 2 january 2021

Finally Injured

What you did not know
was the resilience
of tulips.

The riots start
in colors, earnestly. A violent
outburst of the theme of surrender
before dawn.

You kiss the irises,
blue, violet and crimson
for nominalism.

The vision emboldens-
the wounds, the slit throats-
to come again for guillotine.

A sliding blade
with promise to kill,
will not move.


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Renato N. Mascardo

Renato N. Mascardo, 1 january 2021

reparations to a bounteous mother

stewpot of memories

(for gene baňez)

like pipe
smoke embedded
in my father’s jacket
your tuitive musing of med
school days

wells in
me the scents and
flavors of the past we
all shared/ the anamnesis of
affairs

long gone/
the piquant and
the bitter we choose to
ignore/ savoring instead the
haut-gout

of past
dalliances
of faded friendships of
minionings that persist through time
that have

become
sweeter and sharp
the umami in the
stewpot of memories/ and
now in

this fagged
transactional
age of truthiness and
quid pro quo you may ask/ the price
that we

owe her
the exchange that
is really fair between
her and us/ the tuition-fee that
we paid

against
all that we got
are getting and will get
back from her plus memories so
priceless//

renato
thursday 31 december 2020


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 1 january 2021

Dedication

Answering your own question,
wrapping the kill-
as manifestation of
God's will.

The old earth
still bears the fruits and
comes face to face with the
ungrateful human being.

Not touching your breast, I will
hear your heart beat
once-over.

Before the rains come,
the rage will sleep with the stones
and reconstruct a-
prehistoric fault.

Apollo wants to leave
Delphi and become a monk.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 31 december 2020

The Soliloquist

Stares down, the grey
moon, fixedly,
in naked aggression…
Fire and brimstone.
I move one step, towards you. In semidarkness
I have lost the address
of peace.

The transgender, stumps
the ghost. There was no noun,
no pronoun, only an abstract
feel. Do you see the
wooly trail beating the dust?

When did you hit the dirt road
not to come back…
What was undone? After
the death of the cuckoo, there was
no wedlock in words.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 30 december 2020

Knife And Boat

Like the banana peel
thrown on the sidewalk, you
come across the life.
And you still go on, in the-
search of moonlight-
without pills.
The drugged sleep.
Unorthodoxly you insult
the sun. And one-liners
go abegging for the listeners.

You are talking to your
peers now, long dead.
Fair amount of water, is
needed to sink.
The river merchant has brought
no fish.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 29 december 2020

Knife And Boat

Like the banana peel
thrown on the sidewalk, you
come across the life.
And you still go on, in the-
search of moonlight-
without pills.
The drugged sleep.
Unorthodoxly you insult
the sun. And one-liners
go abegging for the listeners.

You are talking to your
peers now, long dead.
Fair amount of water, is
needed to sink.
The river merchant has brought
no fish.


number of comments: 0 | rating: 0/0 | detail |


Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 28 december 2020

Fish Ladder

Like a snake
it moves.
My poem.

You are not, what you were
in the night, lightning
the grey moon.

I hear, what you
did not say or did-
not think.

Even dark
forebodings, move like red
ants, from the slit eyes.

I cover the faults
via songbird, which
was calling, desperately,
unwaitingly.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 27 december 2020

No Acrimony

You decline to speak-
to listen-
to see
like a meditating Buddha.

Like a sunflower
with moon seeds,
ready to explode at sunset.

Strangulated-
neck, hanged from a tree
to tell the tale-
that you were violated.

This was the principle of
cosmic order. Poor god
waits for the world
to show the rage.

I wake up the tree.
Leaves fall like unspoken words
from the decaying oak.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 26 december 2020

For Pythia

In suddenness, I will
write a poem for you.

You had stopped at the
outset, like a black moon
opening up perfervidly.

Remote from the oneness
of life, a flame leapt up
to ignite the process of birth-
without perceiving.

Come let's meet at the
navel of the destiny.
I had the penchant of
burning myself.

You, who would never be
visible, I will dust all the mirrors
to find out.

Waiting for the festival to begin.


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Melancthe

Melancthe, 25 december 2020

Words

Hey! handsome
words at the edge
of confusion

put the pen into action
and push this keyboard

Hey! handsome
words at the edge
of confusion

was is Shakespeare or sherry?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 25 december 2020

A Black Speech

Refusing to be
healed.
A wound will stay awake.

Mired in bitter controversy,
the captain said-
the war was not a deliberate act of
atoning for the soul.

That prevents the sun
to come out after a long night.

You walk in the light years,
gaunt and dazed,
in pain of hunger. The words
hang in shame.

A city fails, for
another voice of verse,


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Renato N. Mascardo

Renato N. Mascardo, 24 december 2020

cinquain

nativity in the year of corona

no joy
in this age of
the desolate yet there
is comfort in the isolate
of two//

renato
25 december 2020


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 24 december 2020

The Hymn Of Love

Stoma
opens, ejects the scream.

Oh, my god.
The ink spilled
on the sheet, hiding the code.

The scared veins
of pure honey, wets the lips-
of gills. There is no salt.

The water explodes
bursting the dam. No spine was
worth of robbery.

Golden nuggets
are displayed now. Would you
bargain the uphill?

The nightmares begin again.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 23 december 2020

See My Hands

Overreaching for chemical signs
and word for word,
you want to move on-
without parents.

This was only a poetic
idea, that no weapon will
be used for execution.

Not offering an apology,
we were dissecting the ethics
of violence and war.

A chilling reminder, you are
going to starve the definitions.
But no clarity was visible.

I am becoming bones
and taut nerves.Only eyes
were looking ahead of the tempest.

Roofs were melting.
You want to hit the sky.


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Renato N. Mascardo

Renato N. Mascardo, 21 december 2020

seclusion

passers

in time
many become
few friendships' circle shrinks
diametered and circumferenced
by strife

boredom
and loss until
fellowships in the end
join solitude in reluctance
as one//

renato
sunday 20 december 2020


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RENATA

RENATA, 18 december 2020

czuła jest noc

Lgnęli do siebie
w pościeli
czując się jak w niebie
chcieli
dalej brnąć
w pocałunków moc
magia dotyku
gdzie skóra drży
TY TY TY

Na czuły szept
emocji jęk
termometr pęka
gorączka jest
dreszcz dreszcz dreszcz


dostaję olśnienia
z Tobą na księżyc
wybieram
się


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 17 december 2020

Forecasting

Understanding-
the sexuality
of clock.

Time moves
the hands, of past,
the present.

The future
belongs to no one.
This poem, cosmos.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 16 december 2020

Noesis

A near cult glows/ on faces-
for harvesting peace,
saluting each other, without flame.

I have come so far
though you did not want the winds to move.

A new theme was
developing. The first wicket has fallen.
The collective suicide
will follow.

Invoking the sun, you stay in shadows,
without qualms to hear
the swish of swords.

The phenomenalist,
strides confidingly to read your mind.
Heart cries-
Uncontrollably.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 15 december 2020

But Nothing

No it will not work.
The amalgam of arrival
and departure.
Debunking the theme
of reincarnation, you enter into the body of a poem.

Crowned and faded out,
all the icons were diminishing
in stature.A winter bath
tries to hold the halo-
for sometime, and then disappears
in obscurity.

Where the things go wrong
and connectivity snaps?
The tall people, yes very tall,
crumble under the weight of anonymity.
When you climbed down from
the pedestal, light was dim.

Did you ever receive a blast in face?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 14 december 2020

This Cosmos

The tall, dense, tree of life
divides the culture, ages.
Will witness-
the gorgeous, ruinous and
hideous days.

How would I claim
the legacy of a deaf and dumb
sky?

The fragile bones of the
earth, break.
Blackberries burn under
the eyes.

The hidden herons
fall involuntarily, when you
trim the tree for a
new moon.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 13 december 2020

Inundation

Standing on black stones―
in water death,
I let it go, my pride
at the end of bay.

No obituary
no elegy,
will erase the thoughts of coming and going
of moon, when night
starts crying.

The smoke-filled eyes
will speak of the burnt house,
when the sun was
telling the truth.

Setting frozen tulips
at your feet, I bring the
river of tears
to start the day.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 12 december 2020

Startling Likeness

Yes it is descriptive only,
the unbearable pain of denudation,
like blue heartache.

Touching the extremes, you
become desperate to―
reach the first letter.

The word will form later.
The virtue of knowing―
the unknown was a punishment,
you cannot untie the knots.

You must know the trick of―
the trade. How to come back
alive after touching the skin
of a viper?

No celebration to mark―
the anniversary of the assassin.
Life itself takes the award.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 11 december 2020

Scars

There was obsession, to wash your
hands again and again.
They swing wildly.

The moods.
Betel leaves, and bad grammar.
Charity untainted.

Divided walls.
A street breaks the steps.
Nails scratching the rosary.

The stranded words,
will not sit on the wide screen.
The damp soil becomes dark.


No gift was needed-
unmaking the wasp's nest.
I bend down to light the lamp.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 10 december 2020

Evocative Images

A single line,
undefined, hangs
to make your life vulnerable.

The drifting starts.
You fumble for the right-
text,

to convey the urgency
of a moratorium. The
dew on the grass,

was not ready to
accept the rainbow of
false promises.

Flat refusal comes
from the deprived homes.
The poverty has become a sin.

The elegant procession
of the king was throwing
dust in our eyes.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 9 december 2020

Whirling Dervish

In being and unbeing
I come to you today-
in unconscious state.
Excessively leaning on
cause, it is not heart-
not brain. Just a beat.
Evening is settling
down. Time flew past. Birds
going home. A lone moon
will rise.
Underground thoughts start-
stunning the secrets.
You open the lost book.
In war go the alphabet.
Questions arise. After all-
who was me.
The awakening begins.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 8 december 2020

What Grammer

The tremors. One day
I would know. The trees are walking.
No miracle. We are-
becoming rootless.

The fear, was palpable.
Nowhere to go. All the roads
were blocked. The king
is being anointed after the bloodbath.

No logical lie was needed
for targeted killing.
Why did you start the
bonfire near the oil wells?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 6 december 2020

Far And Wide

The night poem
crucial
was the breast-feed
the train whistles by

the thugs squirm
no waylaiding now
in the dark hour
till the moon rises

the drag queens
are out to collect
the marbles
would you play the chess?

faithfall will spring
a surprise becoming
god himself
do not tell any prayer-


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 5 december 2020

To Know What We Do Not Know

Though inaudible, I will
hear you- clear and distinct,
offering to be understood.
Destigmatizing the ghost of truth
and be accepted.

The noises still persist
of the parables. Who was the
king without a crown?

Accepting nihilism, I will
ask my inner voice, will
you meet the god?

In anguish I search the answers
to deepest mysteries.

Do not wash the words.
Your hands will pick up
the fallen moon in dirt.

The slanted eyes.
You want to drown in the
crevices of pain.


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RENATA

RENATA, 4 december 2020

ĆMA

ma poczucie wartości równe zero
chce być motylem a jest brzydką heterą
z ogłoszenia wpada na bąki i szerszenie
dbała i starała się a jutro było coraz gorsze

leci leci do światła
chcąc
być najpiękniejsza

jej ikariada trwa
nadal i nadal
dopóki ogień myśli nie strawi
i spocznie we własnym grobie


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 4 december 2020

Melting Nowhere

Everything was in place,
and I started to find-
the kingpin, door by door.

Wanted to know more about the death,
when you were struck in silence-
of blackness.

Displaying the art of kill. It has
an ancient throw of fangs.
I am ready to catch the blues.

All day the hibiscus has
been bleeding. I will never
disappoint the skin of the pilgrim.

Oh pink eyes. Sometimes
I wonder, why this shade rests
after wedding a celibate.


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