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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