Latest items:
Satish Verma, 27 september 2022
Listening To Sky
Keeping the end at bay,
spurning advances in dark,
going for a witch-hunt.
*
For the truth. The man and
the beast were one. You will not cry
for the sake of progeny.
*
The swift fall of pen
breaks the barriers. There was no
one to read the scriptures.
Satish Verma, 26 september 2022
In The Spin
To save the last bruise,
after an encounter with
a kiss of the breaking rock and melting voices.
I did not want to
remember you in twilight
of dementia. There was no birthday for me.
A brown girl drowns
in my deep poems. You had become
a river without a bed.
Can you give me a
name― for my unborn child?
I loved him to measure you my mate.
After all I refuse
to die inspite of all the falls.
Beyond the bricks lies my blessings.
It were only you.
Satish Verma, 23 september 2022
Defying Time
Sitting before the white
screen, thinking―
what to write today.
Suddenly you will appear to
take a sweet revenge.
Proding the sensitivity,
you will not utter a single word.
I will start burning my―
paper boats on the banks of brows.
River dried, no water was
flowing from the dams of eyes.
Only the moon was watching me.
Tomorrow you will find a―
washed out body in dew of a
poem, half buried in red sands.
It still becomes relevant.
You pick up the remains of a saga
make a shrine of the god anonymous.
Satish Verma, 21 september 2022
Speak My Language
Trying to count
the beautiful years, spent
in the journey of heart.
There was an uncanny
feel. The pink coldness
was not mine.
Like you ditch the
timelessness, and live in a
drop of dew to meet the sun.
The flesh. A suicidal
move to move away
from the relationship of night.
Of the tenderness,
benign death of a star.
Dust celebrates the glorious fall.
The grieving will not
stop. A charred book of bliss
terminates the vision.
Satish Verma, 20 september 2022
My Muse
Tired from the world―
waiting for you, till the night falls
and heart accelerates.
You will come gingerly―
sticking the moon on forehead,
go near the mirror and smile.
I would ask if anyone else―
has loved you so much as me.
The fireflies start shimmering.
Tears will wash your―
eyes and you will read my
message clearly. Inside―
the eyes the image―
will develop of a venus.
I will write a poem.
Satish Verma, 19 september 2022
So Many Half-Truths
You were still thinking.
Thinking beyond thoughts―
the void, the space, the time.
A crush of relics was
piling up. Bloodshed and poverty
at hands, you do not want to talk.
The challenge of being or isness
persists. I go back to the
culture of ancient theology to
understand the divine arithmetic.
The numbers were increasing,
of gods, godmen and crimes.
No sermons. The autumn
will bring down the foliage―
green, red, brown
to yellow.
Satish Verma, 18 september 2022
You Were My Last Kill
What was your secret of―
cheating on me?
If you were an abstraction
like a moon in blue night,
how will you write
a poem, without paper and ink.
I was a word catcher,
of your language.
Cannot decipher my pain in―
my nativity.
Always had to live in the
family of longhorns, who
destroyed my sanctity.
You raised a tomb
of sun, after death squad
failed to kill me
and the dark fell.
Just before the dawn
I will meet you in deep lake of eyes.
Satish Verma, 17 september 2022
What Was Untouchable?
Being set on fire
my fantasy, my vision.
Something that should not have happened.
Latched to heritage―
the touch of faith brings
sharp harpoons.
Not easy to forget
an elegy I made for unknown.
Will you come to throw the dust?
Cannot punish you
for my sins. A humming bird
crashed this noon on my deck.
A square face peeps from behind the tears.
September had been always
harsh. This month I had decided
to falter.
Satish Verma, 16 september 2022
This September
How far you will go―
with me,
in purple night.
Life will betray.
Death was honest.
Gods cheat.
Once perishable,
and obsolete.
You were chewing the same words.
Can I borrow
the sun from you for a while?
My moon was under a spell,
I will wear your smile.
Desire like toothache
was rising, tearing me apart.
I will drink only the potion
from your hands.
Satish Verma, 15 september 2022
Magical Solution
Weird,
your hidden contours,
as true to yourself,
from unseen to seen.
Like a phoenix,
you are supposed to write
your own epitaph,
before jumping on a funeral pyre.
The bald eagles
like simple truth, give
you pain and hurts. I write
a poem for you― then
delete it.
A transitional encounter.
One of us was lying. There
was no eye of the moon.
In search of the silver bullets
to kill the werewolves
of our life.
Latest comments:
26 september 2022
jeśli tylko
skadrowałabym mocniej drzwi - podkreślając
26 september 2022
kim jest zawsze..
26 september 2022
Weronika
Bo za horyzontem zawsze jest z górki.
26 september 2022
Przybyłem milczeć, a głos zabieram tylko szeptem.
25 september 2022
dobrosław77
Księga Rodzaju 50,1-3== „Wtedy Józef rzucił
25 september 2022
kalik
Super!!
25 september 2022
Ta gra wymaga zapętlenia.
25 september 2022
wszystko potrafimy zmienić o każdej porze:)
25 september 2022
tetu
zimą czekamy, bo rodzi się/ kwadratura koła,
24 september 2022
Wystarczy krótkie CV.
23 september 2022
Podkreślam..
23 september 2022
Kreślę do Ciebie, że Cię nie skreślam.
27 september 2022
Satish Verma
26 september 2022
wiesiek
26 september 2022
Geneen Meyers
26 september 2022
wiesiek
26 september 2022
Satish Verma
25 september 2022
jeśli tylko
24 september 2022
wiesiek
23 september 2022
Marek Gajowniczek
23 september 2022
Satish Verma
21 september 2022
Marek Gajowniczek