poetry

poetry
Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 23 september 2021

A Celestial Missive

One strange movement
stops. You won't conform
an angel's thought dream.
And I will not give in to an epithet
for paradigm shift.

Unblinkingly you stare through
me weighing my
dewy eyes. They had spilled the ink
of heart. Subatomically, a mass
becomes a howl of unheard scream.

I want you for all the
pores of my consciousness. On a
blank paper you will write a betrayal
of cuckoo. The small songbird
cries in joy.

An earthern lamp burns
tirelessly. I cover the flame with
my palm to give you a handprint
of my waist.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 22 september 2021

Euphoria

Moon, eye of
night, will watch
your mandarins.

Deep orange-red?
No.I would
prefer hard cider.

Daisy has a
flair to wink―
in bright sun.

A netter on
prowl, for wingless
butterflies.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 september 2021

Walking Without Shadows

I will talk of human
conflicts. No one was targeted.
Like you pick up a slug―
and make a thermonuclear device.

That green-tinted sand,
olivine. I will spread―
on your path, so that you
can breath easily.

This was a tranquil treatment―
before I become dazed in
polluted air of the earth and get
a thrombus. One man lives,
other man dies.

This dirty city was growing. I
will bear the blame. I
have not stopped writing
poems daily.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 september 2021

Remembering An Unknown

The moon at the window
tonight, was like a dreamcatcher.
I am going to sleep in your charm.

Image builders were
becoming scarce. In your tempest
I will find my dustbath.

Amidst the sailing
swans, becoming a semi-recluse,
you wanted to write poetry.

Why don't you go back
to your home, O fairy?
Did I clip your wings?

Not for sale.How
far it was? My liberation
from the shadow of the lips?

Ashened, a fakir wanted
to give away his precious jewel
to an unknown star.


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RENATA

RENATA, 19 september 2021

uzależnienie

poszłabym za Tobą i szłam szłam obok
aż zniknąłeś rozmyłeś się wypiłeś mnie
i odszedłeś zostało puste miejsce

obok Ciebie i Twojej dłoni świat ma kolory
niezapomniane a ja śpiewam i śpiewam
nadzwyczajnie głośno i głęboko

świat traci smak kolory i treść
nie chcę jeść chcę spać
gdzieś w zgniłych liściach

bo jestem dla Ciebie
bo nie ma mnie
gdy nie chcesz


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RENATA

RENATA, 19 september 2021

Zamordowana królowa

ona tak kiedyś silna piękna gibka
rozwijająca talent wędkarski
wśród sępów hien i wilków zostaje
zdemaskowana niemal zjedzona
przez rekiny i piranie choć nieustannie
nadzieję ma

ona prawie postradała rozum i urodę
spadając z tronu wyimaginowanego
roztrzaskała się o rogi małżonka
łamiąc kark wszak król życzył sobie
poślubić Konstancję

Ona niekoronowana choć pierwsza
żona zostawiła potomnym bękarta
sprawiedliwość jest w ręce króla
krzyknął Ludwik wśród nienawiści
zgiń i zniknij

ona już takie przeznaczenie miała
dla kilku chwil zapomnienia i sztuk
uwodzenia męki pańskie w lochu więziennym
a tak rozpaczliwie chce żyć


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 september 2021

Not My Angst

Tribal instinct spares none.
You change the script,
and come out to see the murmuration
of a flock of starlings.

The precision, the blend
make you wonder about the harmony
of small birds in unison,
an army moves as one body.

O man, your mathematics
has gone absurd. The sects and
cults. The zealot, the devout.
Brother, I will say unleafing must start.

More poems?
That does not work.
All the daffodils go blind.
Thousands of years go―
in making a vision.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 september 2021

The Eagle Swoops

Why ending your life,
on death bar,
close to terror―

of life? This is how
your dreams come true―
to play with inevitable ?

You had nothing to bleed.
One million times you
kiss on the lips of wounds.

We're all insane, chasing
the muse in dark. Earth
weeps in turn.

The walls are coming
up. What does the time tell
about the age of many tombs?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 16 september 2021

Entering Sanctum Sanctorum

A sacred lotus emerges
from the navel, while you rest
on trembling waves. I am shedding
my leaves.

The knotty hole. Center
of the earth. A shell
breaks inaudibly in the churning pot.

The pledged promise was
deep. Pole's red aurorae stream
in new birth.

Was it necessary to take
an oath under the bo tree―
to become a sacred Buddha?

It sucks. Fake or genuine?
I am searching the faces of whites,
browns and blacks. Who
wants to be buried in a nameless
grave of a soldier?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 14 september 2021

In Upheaval...

This was the rise of animal
after dividing
the pain of man.

The shared past―
would guide the misreading,
calling bloodbath a mistake.

Balancing the pole, walking
on long rope, in sheer
darkness of moonless night.

The words fall on your
feet, begging the exoneration
from name-calling.

Square meals and two lipped
lavenders, will bring the aroma
to wipe out nonexistence.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 13 september 2021

Without Fetters

He was not at guilt,
it was the neuro―
hormones, hired from moon.

You were burning
inside, smokeless
without flames.

I throw the net―
in lake to catch,
the moon for once.

The day was ready
to close the eyes―
to practice philanthropy.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 12 september 2021

Repeating Again

Not a single word was
written today, watching
the masks being perfected.

A nosedive, of what
I built without mercury,
without threads.

Sitting on a black
stone, wishing moon a
mist bath of absolute.

It again aches, my
roving heart, trying to
knit the harmony in black and white.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 11 september 2021

Behind The Glass

I will write a very
soft poem for you today.
Moon had promised
to standby.

You cannot stay outside
your lips. They were frozen.
I will trap a ray of light
when you fall in a pit.

Such aplomb. I must
give you a gift of an Ariel.
Come equinox, I will wait
for the harvest moon.

The pure hymns. I
turn my gold ring for a miracle.
The scars were singing again.
Out of reach, a star winks.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 10 september 2021

Not Ready To Forget

Very scary, I admit―
your vintage―
lovemaking with
a ghost.

Life in a crate was
creating nonpoems.
Water on the ice moon
was never there.

Unmasked you shoot a
songbird in flight.
The soft music went into
the barrel of the gun.

Come and meet my other
self. My penchant for talking
to flowers has made
me a martyr.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 9 september 2021

He Did Not Return

It was not a jubilee,
but I had come to pay my debt.

Stepping gingerly in your
father's study, you open the almirah.

No I am not afraid.
I have come to visit my father.

The hurt has not destroyed me completely.
Days were numbed like by vespa stings― with
burning, swelling and soreness.

I slide the clothes. In
deeper layer a plastic pack appears. on the
bed of dried rose petals,
sits a singed, brown vertebra―
collected after his funeral.

My talisman. I touch it.
Turn around―
don't look back
and walk away.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 8 september 2021

Coming Near You

Like a walking fern, you were.
I was talking to you. Why
would you nose down to touch
my landscape and fall into my arms?

To protect you, I was
making a massive wall― encouraging
the revivalism. Predator
drones were intending to follow you.

The dirt― it will not
stain your innocence. Don't
stand on the ledge. Faceless
winds can topple you at night.

We are beasts, with no space
in between. Like sardines you
are packed without names. The
sea has dried up. How far
was the sun?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 7 september 2021

Violent Shaking

Colored truth,
becomes a hot balloon
in denial mode.

For your own―
relevance, negativity will
not accept the defeat.

Between the stars,
anger erupts―
to reorient the gaffe.

Outrage and despair
are writ large
on the face of non-white moon.


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Morgan

Morgan, 6 september 2021

Moth To Flame

Moth To flame:
'Some other time.
I'm going home
Thanks all the same.'


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 6 september 2021

Unbendingly

You went tounveil your own
statue, before being shot―
dead, for telling the fiction.

Day was stranger than
night. You can discern
the oblique faces.

Handcuffed, you pick up
the pen, to rewrite the name
of omniabsent divine.

Trivial rise of surface
temperature will melt
the snow-clad breasts.

A clove-scented pink―
in the hands of a butcher
does not bring a smile.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 5 september 2021

Life In Dewdrops

In unblemished irish,
the vision was a link
in blankness of thoughts, when
I was weaving a dream
around you.

Your cameo appearance
in flurry of tears,
rips apart my landscape.

The other moon wails behind the clouds.

In androgynous past,
you want to separate the sandwoods.
Death comes as a long sleep.

Your thick braid moves
like a reptile.

I have stopped scripting
the letters. Words float on the
carpeted domes.

Rains would not come tonight.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 3 september 2021

Elusive Answers

Constrained.
The starlings will
not fly today.

There was a hole
in the sky.
The god particles will fall.

Drawing out
the blood of fallen―
angles, on the street.

Can you count
the sins of man?
We still celebrate the hate.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 2 september 2021

The Explosion

I sleep, I wake
for a vigil.
What was time?

The godhood
fails, when you
become a beast.

The thick cloud
of sulphur,
after the blast―

rains limbs. To
meet god, this
was so easy?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 1 september 2021

Be Deceived

Living a death daily,
becomes a normal chore. It was an intense
realization about the ephimerality
of words, the message appearing,
import dying.

The sparks in your eyes
ignite the earth,
without defiling the blue sky.
It was most elemental.

Walking, chatting
green flames― convey a denial
of condensed thoughts. No
milky way. Farewell to tears.

Until you come, the stars,
the moon will not brighten my
kingdom. A peeled off enigma
still prevails.

There was no daymare.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 31 august 2021

The Nightmares

Like Sequoia,
you wanted to grow tall.

But fear of fall
and right to die
become two opposite poles.

Keeping the death
alive, you turn psycho―
magnifying the departure.

And desires reflect scars.
The dreams fall
like ninepins.

The sheep, the lamp, the
snow, you forget,
where you wanted to go.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 30 august 2021

Dying Flames

When white mushrooms
come in procession
after the rains,
you bring back my ache―
O pink rose
words fall like birds.

Caparisoned, the
moon was rising from
the sand dunes, like a
camel after the festival of kiss
of love. The singed bank
of the lake was submerged in tears.

Fold your wings, O peacock,
clouds are going back home.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 29 august 2021

Very Discreetly

Tonight moon was
gliding like a swan,
white and graceful.
But you slept on my hand
like a skylark.

Your eyes lit up
when I squeezed a verse.

Do I need to tell you
that fireflies had gone mad
after striking you?

And the weird thing was,
Aurora blushed after running into dark.

To catch your shadow,
time stood still, until
the sun passed away.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 28 august 2021

Ennui

In a frame of a―
window, I watch
daily, a saddest,

star, and a palm
holding the clouds
like an Atlas.

No winds. The
bougainvillea still
drops the colored bracts―

in wait of moon―
unheeding the advice
of bright sun.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 27 august 2021

The Final Retreat

In reality― you were
in a ring of fire. I had been
left with no claim on you.
Your failure had become mine.

This was not the game―
changer. Moon had latched
on the watery eyes. Synapsis
had started to break away.

The god wears different
apparels― as per the need of the
occasion. Nobody is going to say,
rest in peace.

Gradually I will stop
speaking about myself. When
my time comes, I will lose everything
and set you free.

The blind eagle will find its abode.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 26 august 2021

The Fugitive

Bending the gravity
you start falling upward.
There was―
no distinction between earth and sky.

Unsaid thoughts without words
blend. A sign language conveying
the ageless twinge
of a faceless spirit.

Against the outrage of morals,
flatness becomes deep. The
quality suffers. Inception
invites the crime.

Strange things happen. Man
becomes a fireball, torching
the domes, shrines and littering
the streets with newborns.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 25 august 2021

Self-Portrait

Life inside the doors―
mocks the nature.
Still life. Cup and Vase.

You lived for others
and died for me.
I become homeless.

In charity, the body
becomes water.
Gold sinks.

Very precious for me.
The hurts―
you gave me unasked.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 24 august 2021

A Suspended Rock

Your freckles should not
go like innocence. Sun
was overlapping the galaxies.

I become whole for a while,
when you cry for the blueberry
moon in vain.

Why the night dips into your blue eyes?

No irony. I will wait
for you on the burning deck.

The schism was widening.
An animal living inside me
wants to raise his head.

The loser gets the inky jet
to cover his body. How about
getting a glimpse of lightning
walking down the road?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 23 august 2021

Uncrafted

To become yourself,
declaring war―
for inequality.

Who was supremacist
in the pygmy owls―
nondescript voices?

The termites had
stopped making
anthills as nest.

The tall grass
now hides the migrant
labourers.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 22 august 2021

Cobwebs

It was difficult to
rewrite one's own death―
on parchment paper. The cloudburst,
had washed away your writ.

The cadaver turns around
and talks. Faith and fire going together.
A flickering light from the brown
eyes, would tell about Advaita. The
nonduality of pain and body.

You can become painless―
if you leave the physical and
watch yourself intently.

Captivity crumbles. You want
to make sure, the bread does not
come between desire and grief.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 august 2021

For No Obvious Reason

When I wanted
to stop you, the flame was
snuffed out by an invisible hand.

I let the missing link
go. My body turns blue.

You return back the
rusted coins. Fountain was
dry. Someone was going insane.

An albino touch with
blue eyes― the planet quivers
in chill.

A punishment for
remaining brown in the
crowd of white lilies.

Summer is breathing
last. Frozen lips now stop the flight.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 august 2021

It Is Raining

Syllepsis. A story goes.
You can kill two―
birds with one eye.

Your charisma does
not work.
Solomon has failed.

Not difficult to live
in a shell, if you
are a white pearl.

In aloneness, you
meet yourself on the
way to morgue.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 august 2021

Metempsychosis

Why would you need a
miracle to become human, after
shedding the skin?

In smoke screen you
become a lizard, creeping on lips,
hips, and chest of an ignorant person.

Verbs would roll down to
explain the gorgeous valley
of sylvian fissure. You had stopped
thinking after tequila.

The agave blooms once in a century
and dies. The man becomes
beast in one night and lives for ever.

Anguish calls. I don't hear my voice.
Become brain-dead, to meet my―
blue gods―


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 august 2021

We The Faithful

Blue moon of white night, wants―
to bring down the sky
in a spiritual bliss.

Talking of reincarnation,
I am skinned alive, like
a cadaver, talking ceaselessly.
You are burning sans fire.

In absence of god, you
become a god father
to a beautiful progeny.

Leave aside the lineage.
On the horizion, a flock
of swans was returning
home to spread the watercolors.

The recluse comes out from the oblivion
to greet the inevitable.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 17 august 2021

Don't Alter The Red Cape

Black names―
were on list. Bring the
French chalk to wipe out
the white board.

The list was still breathing
though you had faked your death,
and the birds had left their nests
for new perches.

Does it hurt you, when
you go hungry? Even the grass
was green. The prince
was watching the apple fall.

Who will climb the
brown hills of moon, to
witness the earth drop in
withering trails?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 16 august 2021

Different Versions

Let's try a
human logic for
a monkey heart.

The knowledge was
becoming a
dangerous thing.

I know and
you know that we
were sworn enemies.

Not like a
flamethrower
come as a bee.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 15 august 2021

Still In Love

Stealing from your
eyes a visibly
upset moon.

I believe, it was not a
tough stand to shut the door
before wearing the mask.

You will not cry,
for my sake. You don't
want to grow old with the pain.

Who will have the last laugh?

Misogyny. Moon was changing the gender
from the west to the east.

On the lonely road
a peacock spreads the beautiful wings
and starts a dance.

Finding a mate becomes
a catholic thing.


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Morgan

Morgan, 14 august 2021

Our Love.

When you're away
I languish alone
The heavens I pray
For your speedy return.

Yet when you return
My languishing ends--
And I pray for the day
You be going again.


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RENATA

RENATA, 13 august 2021

zabić nudziarza

ej jak to jest
że on taki nudny
do poduszki czyta coś
potem szybkie cmok
i do ściany bokiem w bok

gdzie ten dziki ukochany
gdzie ochy i achy pożądanie
nudny on a i Ty
szybko chcesz wyjść za drzwi

pojawił się ten trzeci chyba małolat
między udami wulkan wywołał
grą słów gestem dwuznacznym
zaczął ujeżdżać jej wyobraznię

a potem potem no cóż
kochanku pieść kochanku włóż
ty mężu czytaj i pierdż
bo i tak czeka Cię śmierć

mój mąż drogi w sosie grzybowym
zginął jak Klaudiusz jąkała
domu zakała
koniec nudy wsparte
polisą milion wartą

żona się cieszy już teraz wdowa
na kochanka kasę wydać gotowa
szasta srebrnikami na jego zachcianki
gdy kasa się rozwiała
wtedy ona dla kochanka nudna się stała


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RENATA

RENATA, 13 august 2021

zdarzenie -Katowice Stawowa

Zdarzenie -Katowice Stawowa

Klakson jeden może dwa
potem w tłum i noga na gaz
co myślał kierowca autobusu
rozjeżdżając zgraję łobuzów

Dziewczyna wpadła pod maskę
śmierć zrobiła jej łaskę
nie będzie kaleką
hen w niebie jest już daleko

Pojawiły się filmiki
to zdarzenie makabryczne
komentują żądni nienawiści

czemu na jezdni się biła
co to za matka
co to za dziewczyna
czemu nie spała
co ćpała co brała
czy piła i komu dupy dała
co komu zrobiła
przecież jest nieżywa

stała się ofiarą
za dziesięć szósta rano
nie powinno jej tam być to prawda
ani innych bijących na ulicy bezprawia
śmierć nadjechała autobusem
miała kolor żółty i numer

patologia patologia mówią po kątach
dzień za dniem i tak co dnia
chodząca patologia
głosy głosy jak szatańskie wersety
szum się zrobił wielki rozpisały się gazety

a kierowca apropo ujdzie mu tak na sucho>?
coś tam bierze anty chyba depresanty
jakieś gówno
przecież zawsze można uznać
go za niezrównoważonego
czubka świra lub chorego
a może śmiertelnie wystraszonego
poczuł się osaczony
i ruszył do samoobrony

Stop uwaga dalszych informacji
udzieli policja bo podatnik płaci


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RENATA

RENATA, 13 august 2021

w czasie zarazy się odkazim

I bywa tak nudno i trudno
że trzeba się napić
i bywa tak smutno i zle gdy nie ma Cię
że trzeba się napić
I bywa tak że w czterech ścianach
sam do siebie gadam

że trzeba się napić
Samotność puka do głowy
wypij wypij choć do połowy
wtedy poprawi Ci się humor
wtedy pogadasz z tym tam w lustrze

i bywa tak że ona i on gdy razem są
jak psy się żrą
że trzeba się napić
i bywa i tak że dzieci od rana do wieczora
nie dają nam spokoju
że trzeba się napić

serce kołacze w piersi
przecież oni nie są lepsi
gdy nie mogą wyjść do sklepu
zamawiają przez internet
nic nie słyszą nic nie czują
bo zdalnie pracują


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RENATA

RENATA, 13 august 2021

ostatnia jazda

OSTATNIA JAZDA /Fataprzegrana

Mówi się że nie oszukasz przeznaczenia
Idziesz ku niemu
Jak ćma
Na głowę wali się świat
Ofiara i kat
Czas start
Rytm dnia
Wciąga po brzegi po pachy
Rośnie parzy
Szczęścia i nieszczęścia
Oddech śmierci
Data i godzina
Zgadza się
Przyjechała
Żółtym karawanem
Z kierowcą kamikadze


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 13 august 2021

Not Like Anybody

Sometimes you want to
walk to the gallows,
for my sins.

It was a big fight
over the organ stop, but
I had a different version.

Living in mirror had
become a charm. At least
you were visiting me daily.

Like sniper fire.
It was a volley of bad names
for a nameless, nearer home.

In quest of fear to
understand the unknown, I
have sacrificed my birds of night.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 12 august 2021

Engaging In Argument

No more partisanship
with hatchet.
Better if you come like
a scorpion to give a taste.

You can hang the darkness
of space―
daring the sun.

Gone blank. This was
a self-inflicted wound to
attain liberation.

No use to remain deeply
flawed in the jaws
of a croc.

Once, high you sail, for
resurrection, faith
tumbles down very fast.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 11 august 2021

What Are Future Games?

Make me wild―
weirdly ethereal. An abstract
pain will unite us―
after the scarring.

It was difficult the body
count, lamenting
for the limbless faith. What
would you do with the
tinned sardines now?

The wasting must stop.
We are not able to catch the―
spring. Cold war was settling
in space. Where were new worlds beyond the stars?

I am still trying to―
write only three words verse.
Man was shrinking
and so was tall god. The
mooned eyes were closing.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 10 august 2021

Opening A Window

You floundered.
No god poems.

You don't want to destroy the world.

Doing the things.
Lifting my words from―
the falls.

The implicit enemy
was in between―
the truths.

Nothing belongs to you.
Hence you don't lose the game.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 9 august 2021

No Intimidation

A weird solatium
was offered by putting
off the lights.

The animal inside you,
wants to apologise
for remaining pure.

The pastoral grief of―
a wayward priest―
comes to fore to be stared at.

Lessons inspired by
light were waiting
for the dark night.

And a tiger mauls
a hidden lecher
in the deep bush.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 8 august 2021

Under The Palm Moon

A broken step―
halts me. I move towards
you at the inner call.

Clockwise, going
sensual, you turn into
a greek fire.

Make me angry and suffer.
Don't carry the legacy
of darkpeers.

Reading my poetry for
a while, you fumbled
tracing your fingers on some beautiful words.

The moon would
shine tonight to share the crocuses.
I may write your name
on scented winds.

Easy lips. Were your trying to say something? Yet
you fall on ancient adage.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 7 august 2021

The Nightmare

Had wanted it to happen,
without me.

Remorse was turning against
the self. It was growing very large.
You could feel the enormity of a
suicidal microcosm, enveloping you in its borrowed light―
and rugged terrain.

The peace― it was absolutely absent
in the myriad stars, earthen lamps,
the ethereal beauties of unspoilt hymns.

The spirit was gone. It was all
a floating skeleton of man searching
for the real legs, natural eyes, and
a roving heart.

I wanted to pause, in the penultimate
explosions, when the tornado
dies and I would wake up.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 5 august 2021

Pangs Of Truth

There was nothing to hide.
No jewels, no gold. I
wanted, to get the replica of afterlife.

Meet me in some moonless night.
I will show you a slice
of my bruises, offering it as
my panacea.

You were hurting yourself
invoking the baby god
on the night of lights.

It was hallucinating,
stabbing yourself in a
virtual suicide.

As the last rites started,
you got up from the funeral pyre
and walked away.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 4 august 2021

There Was No Answer

I cannot understand you.
You walk straight
into enemy's den.

The skin peels off. A naked
boom. Silver domes
turn black. Ethanol drips
from eyes.

Praise the God. Tears
become poetry. Moon dances.
No door opens in bleeding night.

I ask for the lips. It
is for death of the priest,
who would not accept the streak of sin.

Until you become hot.
Flashes of fireflies have
become longer. Tail to
tail the message will betray the address.

Buddha takes his own time. There was
no light between the dark hills.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 3 august 2021

There Was No Prelude

Clubfoot.
A poet's dilemma.
You cannot think straight,
cannot walk straight―
unaided.

In grimaced face, one
eye patched, there stood a deliverer
with raised hands―
bringing down the empire of
a baby king.

You walk out of the painting
mutely. The king was
ready to be laid down for the
poisoning effect.

Was there anybody to
explain that why the dynasty
falls one day and the
poet wins the broken fort?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 2 august 2021

When The Attack Comes

Like a tantric I will
gather you and make you sleep
in my eyes.

In lantern festival, I
will be fighting dark
with hundred wicks.

The dead will come
back to talk about their
amputated thumbs.

You had no bona fides
to tell me how blue were
my aches.

I don't find any metaphor
in this qualified decay,
wiping my glasses to see clearly.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 1 august 2021

The Hidden Sky

In my sanctum,
you walk in― like
my first child, to join
my innerness.

Trying to decipher―
the moral code of angels.
I just wanted an embrace
of a flame to kiss the sparks.

I hear your footsteps,
sometimes near, sometimes far away―
in the valley of burning tears.
This space and, a gouge hold the
secret of melting lips.

Still unborn, a voice in
cul-de-sac, waits for the grievers
to open the darkness―
for a ray of light. It was very
lonely where you had scripted the clouds.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 30 july 2021

Sketches In Coal

Where sand becomes
silver, you cower
under a palm.

A birch tree
beacons you to write
the fall of man.

All day you wait
for a miracle.
It never happens.

This autum, I will
worship a naked tree.
A toast for dying moon.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 26 july 2021

Nothing Happened

Talking off the runway
moon― being you, a
gut feeling takes over.
You will not stay overnight.

Not cool enough, I was
learning in your calm, becoming
lynx-eyed shooter―
from panther.

Juggling the phrases,
the meltdown begins. A
bridge collapses. Stampede.
Mass panic. The train will
not come today.

Let's go and walk in a
sunflower field. Do you― love
Van Gogh? His studies?
‘A Starry Night ‘ and his interpretation
of self-violence.

Rest of life. I am going
to walk with a hurt.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 25 july 2021

Lips And Wordless Miracle

What if the sword
leaves and purple eyes
of Iris become apocalyptic?

It would be for me― the arrow,
leaving from the arched
bows of goddess of rainbow.

Wearing a tiara, of
golden lotuses, in eerie morning
the sun was rising.

Dawn commits a
genuine sin. Wakes me up
to dig the past for bones of faithless truth.

The silent ocean has
a job to do. Turn me blue in
iced mercy without any smile.

Baked and browned, the
priest, marries a virgin to a ghost.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 24 july 2021

With Apologia

Nothing other than,
he was hearing―
screams!

Nude was not au
naturel, like
a new born chick.

Half-mumbling,
half-clad,
he walked bare foot.

Giving away the
canvas, you are
blissfully happy.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 23 july 2021

Adoration

Tends to droop,
the narcissus, after
shedding the tears.

Per minute, you
were drawing
a self-portrait.

In water,
your image splinters
in thousand names.

Holding the―
earth on your neck
where would you go?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 22 july 2021

Truth Hides Behind Sun

Let go the nightmares
and oneness,
and climb down the deep―
stairwell to find your image,
in seething rage of quiet water.

It was not very hot
to raise the fever of native pain
in your legs. The delicate
heights of golden peaks you
won, slumber― when you discover yourself.

Poem matters in black ink,
on white paper which bloats
in self praise. The world
trembles in earthquakes of sermons.
Fauna and flora are turning back.

Enough to snuf the guts.
You don't love the parting.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 july 2021

Like Buddha

Light of dawn.
Day begins with
blue memories.

I sweep―
the floor, of mind.
The palm stands witness.

Nightingale,
does not believe in
nihilism.

Don't get mad
at dragonfly.
It cannot stand still.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 july 2021

Portraits

I resent.
Will remain that
I am.

No fissures. Frozen
mind. I am not thinking.

Peeling off the day
layer by layer. Fear
refuses to cross the street.

Not becoming.
Not carrying any weight.
The journey collects only―
the names.

No peaks. Restraint
I say to dark. Light
was waiting.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 july 2021

No Criminality

Paying back the debt
of virility. A lame duck
hobbles on the moon.

As far as, you can,
travel on my body, to―
catch the boat.

River was on spate,
sinking the groves,
bushes and fireflies.

Don't walk on
the clouds. You will fall
violently, when it rains at night.

The globes rotate
the world. You come back
to the poles, from where
you started.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 17 july 2021

Night Night

Like a vampire,
night swoops down.
Temple bells ring.

I am happy―
not to invoke any god.
Crickets share my muse.

The tall minarets,
stand erect in dark.
Muezzin gives a call.

My friends long
dead, would come and
talk ceaselessly.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 16 july 2021

Not True

A pigeon
flutters, in my frail―
chest, ready to fly away.

The train does
not stop here. Why
do I keep standing?

A man dies in
a blizzard. You
need to pay for it?

What was the
hallucination? I
was living for a lie?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 15 july 2021

You Want To Be Born Again

In evening I need
to speak with my small voice
to fill my dreams with moon.

Buried alive in the brick―
wall, a frightened poem
wails.

I will meet you, my muse―
in your space, without any pang,
though the road has not ended.

Drinking the dark
wordplay with no qualms
at the virtual rise of doom.

The fireflies, with their
breasts aglow, were ready to conceive
the radical ultimate.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 14 july 2021

Morning Mist

A complex question―
it was. Why your
hands were trembling?

The body becomes
a kayak. You were sailing
alone in the lake of bluebells.

Elegy and epilogue
become one. I have come
to meet my humming bird.

Still suspended in
deathless space, the sun
wants to hide.

The revelation
was not to solve the enigma,
but to listen to inside.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 13 july 2021

My Pain

Falling in green love
with yourself―
creating violence.

Serenity has no relevance
now. The edge was
asking you to go for a jump.

Nil tolerance. I was
fighting with me, veiled
in uncertainties.

Listen, Here lies the
crux. Nobility forgotten, I ask
who failed whom in this age of betrayals?

The evil grows. Shapeless
truth was running in fog―
and now the dragon rises.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 12 july 2021

An Unasked Eulogy

It will come back to you
again and again― the thought
nudging through the magnolias.

Without telling you―
the creamy pink― waxy smell of
the death of the guiding light.

I am lost anew
at the center of conflicts
between earth and moon.

The unspoken pain
of the aroma undrafts
from the fragrant words.

Life folds the hands
at the chest before cracking open
the yawning chasm.

I touch you without any meaning.
No eyes. No ears― miming
secretly the footfalls of shadows.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 11 july 2021

Facts Of Life

The decay has―
killed the dream songs,
of shut mouths.

Trees were rolling
down on beach
when hurricane collapsed.

It was raining,
carbs and limbs, when
clouds gathered.

You love the
potholes, underground
caves, to hide cardinal sins.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 10 july 2021

Facts Of Life

The decay has―
killed the dream songs,
of shut mouths.

Trees were rolling
down on beach
when hurricane collapsed.

It was raining,
carbs and limbs, when
clouds gathered.

You love the
potholes, underground
caves, to hide cardinal sins.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 9 july 2021

The Seeds Of Our Lips

I will come and meet
you in absence of past.
Why to open the window
to moon. I was not right,
not wrong.

Incensed in endless emotions
by default. I still love
my muse desperately, when you
come and go
in between the verses.

The time bars you
in moments, in twists of puzzles.
You don't make a move,
don't fold your wings,
and cast your spell in the shadows.

The lost sun of my path,
sends the fresh, full moon― between
night and day to blend the pain
and ecstasy of rapture, of knowing
the depth of holy lake.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 8 july 2021

Bewitching

Absolutely zilch.
Sometimes you feel―
nothing moves.

Coming out of
remorse, there was no
confronting power―

to reason. Even
time freezes in your pen,
ink evaporates.

The blues, become
a sacred cove, where
a lake would take birth.

And a speaking
pain will embrace your
sinking boat.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 7 july 2021

Autumn's Harmony

Moon crazed fonts
starting a genocide of words
in narcolepsy.

Don't ask me about the amphetamines!

The letters have gone crazy.
No discipline,
no shoes.
They run wildly barefoot,
make you feel a victim of curved lips.

There were no afterthoughts―
about the massacre of essence,
of message, gist and substance.

You stand alone in jungle
of books, unprinted, unspoken
of, finding the
sequence of life.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 5 july 2021

Indigenously

Sheer drop of lightning
takes the brown
land by storm.

The cult grows―
in the hills for
the wolf to stay.

There was no healing
ceremony after
the snake bites.

The bodies are revered with thyme,
when the moon
dips, before dawn.

The natives
were ready to abandon
the glory of man made world.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 4 july 2021

No Dues

Misreading―
the time zone, clock
refuses to rewind.

The brain shuts,
absenting the self.
No seeing no hearing.

The street,
resuscitates you.
Train whistles to take you away.

What home?
There was no destination.
You will not reach anywhere.


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Morgan

Morgan, 2 july 2021

Seige

Reading on--
'I can't believe it', cried old Vallette, in toney Italian. 'The nerve!'
His secretary's quip was plainer. He adored the old man and his crazy bravery.
'Een-cred-DEE-bee--lay! Can she think of no interest but her own? A chip off the old block. Thanks for nothing!'
And so on.
'Oliver, she's your sovereign', old Vallette reminded him.
Oliver said nothing. True her didn't like bad-mouthing his queen.
Say nought, regret nought. But he wanted his sympathies clear.
Through the corbelled windows, towards the ruins of St Elmo across the harbor, old Vallette studied the crumbled western rampart, the stone-filled moat, the figures of the engineers atop the wall. Like ants.
He recalled the battle--those long, hot, awful, bloody days--
days he would like to forget but couldn't. He thought of the men--how bravely they fought, how horribly they died.
He viewed the yellow fronts of the palaces--graceful outcroppings of limestone cliffs they sprang from--
both turned fiery gold in the low sun,
the in-between stretch of dozing water a pool for descending angels to bathe in.
It bent back the sun's rays.
Magnifico!
'As it always would be', thought old Vallette. Thanks to him. Anachronism, indeed!
But he didn't say that last part. He just felt it.
Turning from the window, he swore in Italian.
It must have sounded gracious to Oliver's ears.
Without doubt, English was the language of profanity.
On the marquinia table, inlaid with pink and orange stone
he tossed the missive bearing the English queen's seal.
'Thanks, thanks, thanks, much-indebted--thanks for...
thanks, thanks, etc.'
'Of course', said old Vallette. 'Don't mention it.'
The envoys who brought it couldn't read but in the hall below
were feasting on plaice and drinking Sicilian wine.
Outside, the sea bristled with ships, sailing placidly
to Genoa, Marseille, faraway Valencia,
bearing spices and wheat from the Levant and slaves to London.
'Good riddance. And the language--barbaric!'
There was lots to do. Old horrors fade before fresh triumphs.
Across the harbor the city was rising fast.
He, himself, laid the first stone. Would he live to see it done?
He doubted it. Not the way he felt. But God willing, he would.
The mantel clock chimed six. Along the peninsula
in each little belfrey, swung a bell on its rung. Soon
there was a chorus. It lasted a whole minute, then ceased.
Old Vallette liked the bell sound.
He would have a little dinner then go to bed.
'And Oliver...'
'Yes, sir?'
'Go to bed.'


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Morgan

Morgan, 2 july 2021

Haiku

On a certain day
we caught many crows
but their cries all flew away.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 2 july 2021

Three Vistas

Do not count.
Do not return my poems―
written for you,
in memory of hot pink
flamingoes, that had not returned
to their abodes.

Flashbacks. Fear of colors
arises. You shut your eyes.
Idolatry soaring. Night
will ask the stars. Why am I
carrying the burden of a rock
on my shoulders?
Moon laughs.

You stay quiet,
will not commit any kill.
A train whistles by. Evening
plays a thief, stealing your demeanor.
Inside you burn. No smoke was
coming out. No reference―
to smiles and tears.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 1 july 2021

Truism

Almost reached.
Your tongue slips;
Then you fall.

The cyclone,
develops an eye, to hit.
You become blind.

An outcast―
became a star
in dark sky.

Why the elite,
of choice or exhibit―
wants to wear rags?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 30 june 2021

Contents

You tie a
sacred thread to
the hollow tree.

That walks around
in search of
a morose Buddha.

The world
has gone beyond
the suffering.

A square, a
circle, a dot?
Who are you?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 26 june 2021

Always Self-Deception

You collapsed―
on the stairs in frenzy
falling into a debt trap.
The moon was asking back his pain.

This was a naked aggression.
Kitchen was not ready for roots
and flowers and footprints
of staggering price of being alive.

Riding in a Humvee, the
rhetoric fails. The lies become
spiteful. Your arms holding
a wavering testament.

Religion of sending
a young legate of death, to veiled
untouchables, to spread
the glitter of bones and red meat.

A gift of asking to become
blind, nothing less.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 25 june 2021

Midnight Happening

You never forget
the fat preemie.
A perfect revenge of the curse―
at ungiving.


Streaking in
snow, when it
was frighteningly dark.

The moon-bathed
body of the thumb king
running without feet.

How would you―
climb, the black hills
of desire in tragic land
of skulls?

The living god was to
become a marbled statue.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 24 june 2021

Midnight Happening

You never forget
the fat preemie.
A perfect revenge of the curse―
at ungiving.


Streaking in
snow, when it
was frighteningly dark.

The moon-bathed
body of the thumb king
running without feet.

How would you―
climb, the black hills
of desire in tragic land
of skulls?

The living god was to
become a marbled statue.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 23 june 2021

How Much Does It Matter

You were not choosing
the right words, being reticent
for a seasoned yes.

The hurts of intimate
symphonies― don't bleed.
Only scars were left in triangles.

The chilled morality
of summer stream, was eating
away the banks of amnesties.

It was a sublime touch
of unseen fingers moving into
the trees and sky of dark spaces.

Days were slipping
away. I cannot put my
memories on flame.

There were explosions
on the crossroads.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 22 june 2021

What Renunciation

Would you bear the cost
of peace, if there was
no war, no country, no
personal gods?

We are not talking about―
a retropain of recent past.
It was there when we―
started walking, and
discovered a superhuman being.

The crowd swells every day, and
a new religion crops up
every now and then.

There was no fatal crash.
It makes you rich overnight.
The money grows―
from the barrel of the gun.

I refuse to celebrate the victory.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 june 2021

Unceremoniously

Your algorithm
has failed.
There were colossal mistakes.

It brings back
the memories of
counting on the fingers.

A moon, a river
and a night, had
fallen in love for ever.

Why not a langur
should now be
declared a person?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 june 2021

Captive Of Conscience

You shut to it―
the window, on watching
a row of walking stones
without feet.

Pouting,
scowling―
in a mile of tears.

(A pink lotus spills
the colors on water)

Let me talk
to my wilderness. The
script was incomplete
in shadows of greyhounds.

You crawl on the grass to find a four-leaf clover.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 june 2021

The Dialogue Continues

My logic
was not a part of belief.

The answer you proffered is
not, what it was
supposed to be.

The question sits like a
butterfly on my chest.

It was a sham exercise
to wipe out the dirt from the eyes.

Life, death and the
unknowing are the failures
of man.

I am ready to repatriate
my end from the noose, for
not accepting the award.


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Renato N. Mascardo

Renato N. Mascardo, 18 june 2021

Dumpster Blues

the leavings of a past

the maw
of this monster
remained wide open was
ready to gulp down the morsels
of my

recall
a chipped coffee
stained mug a squeaky chair
an old vcr that almost
always

worked a
half full or half
empty jar of royal
blue quink ink that my thirsty pens
would miss

among
the debris and
treasures that ended down
the gullet of the thirty yard
beast as

brandon
the young dumpster
handler pushed the rear gate
shut with a clang draped its top with
a net

trapping
all inside for their
final journey to the
the gehenna of things in the

belly
of the metal
behemoth leaving me
with my memories behind and
forlorn//

renato
friday 18 june 2021


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 june 2021

After The First Moon

Reigniting blood moon,
I have come to
seek my abdication.

After a long haul of
dark clouds, I come face to
face with my failures.

My experiments with faith
and disbeliefs did not help
to understand the mysterious self.

Now the significant hurts have
become my strength, accepting
the challenge of changed winds.

I meet you O god―
midway, one day to
settle the scores.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 17 june 2021

Inauthentically?

Sperms and legacy.
You scream for the justice
for the space between words
and sentences.

I don't want to be separated
from my half-eaten moon.

Without a dance
your anklets have broken into songs.

Someone commands me―
to sacrifice my pen.

Hallucinatory- be seduced for the sake of fashion.

In anguish I watch
the terror was becoming a religion.

Do you hear the voices
coming from the crypts?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 16 june 2021

Pardon My Darkness

You always said, violence
was in you. Everything was dying
around.

There was a tacit understanding―
enacted,
interceding with―
a lasso. The baked silence
always stares at you.

I have no praise,
no condemnation for anyone.

Inevitably you suck the moon,
your thumb,
your blood.

A poem falls on the ground
to breathe again.


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Wiadomsky

Wiadomsky, 14 june 2021

Sticky notes

shards of you
like sticky notes
attached to every
single piece of me

I fold them into
paper airplanes
instead of writing
letters in my head

I'll just wait here
among broken dreams
scattered around
one more eternity

for your never


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 14 june 2021

In Penitence

Unceremoniously―
you blow off the earthen lamp
after the night vigil.

Still stranger
to dark, you start self-destruction
in holy violence.

Was there any life
before death? You encounter
the crucified truth.

Now you wear the blue lake
to meet the moon―
in a forlorn sky.

I let you see
the falling star. It's heat
had savaged me.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 13 june 2021

Bioluminescence

Like a lingering doubt,
the moon stood on the maple tree―
for a relationship.

For my sake don't take a
downside, my liberalism
will suffer.

Killed in your own house
by lightning, have you
ever heard of self-immolation?

Let's make it simple.
Take it from the giver,
what he never had― and
don't ask the price.

Your eyes again befell
a giant. How would you live
without the fireflies?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 12 june 2021

To Man

The city was going to
fall. An earthquake?
A flood? No it is war.

Money making and
crime. Two things are
left in my coffer.

Man made had
become better thing than
god made.

Mars sends another
image, of this side―
of the man's earth.


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