poetry

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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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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