Satish Verma, 18 february 2021
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.
Satish Verma, 17 february 2021
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.
Satish Verma, 16 february 2021
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.
Satish Verma, 15 february 2021
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.
Paweł Szkołut, 14 february 2021
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
Satish Verma, 13 february 2021
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.
Satish Verma, 12 february 2021
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.
Satish Verma, 11 february 2021
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.
Satish Verma, 10 february 2021
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?
Satish Verma, 9 february 2021
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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