steve, 27 january 2021
You will "never" feel the same...
It pierced my heart.. with deadly aim,
I guess there's nothing I can do...
That will ever get me close to you,
My heart screams out... in silent pain...
Alone again... in the rain,
Knowone hears me... no one cares...
And only "God", can hear my prayers,
Right or wrong... what I feel...
This broken heart... will never heal,
A hallow soul... now dwells in me...
Crying out... to be set free,
But I am shackled... to what I feel...
My heart is hostage... my fate is sealed,
Love will "never"... know my name...
For you will "never" feel the same.
Satish Verma, 27 january 2021
1.
Memories on edge
one after the other―
salted, dried and smoked.
On green sea―
in a sail boat.
You do not know, where to go.
Hot and humid night.
Half moon, sitting
on a royal palm.
2.
A violent sun
was rising. Knocking down
the unending music of night.
The purple flight
of fish, clams and crabs,
overrides. Tomorrow they would be
on table and white sand in your eyes.
The waves, come one by one.
To die on the receding shore.
Your hands tremble, holding the sea.
3.
China rose. Evergreen.
You will find its glory
petal by petal
at every step.
On a tropical beach―
at sensual dawn.
You come out
to pick up the poems.
Love is the arrival of carnations.
Do you mind the nameless pain,
When you walk Matilda?
4.
Earth breaks here
into palms, like spread hands
and hibiscus blooms.
I find the red lips
on burning globes.
of honeysuckle shades―
the sand, sky and moon.
They will meet tonight
at beach for parting kisses.
5.
Something climbs your bones
like an invisible wave
of primeval lust.
A blood feel―
from the pricks of Duranta,
the secret of land's native instinct.
6.
It falls like a quivering leaf:
the sultry night.
A salty wind slaps and tickles.
Walking under the royal
palms, escorted by
lined cycads.
Full moon hangs
overhead, watching the sensual
dance of light and shadows.
7.
The absolute stillness,
hisses. A vicious assault.
Your hands fly to ward off the evil.
A savage storm
of whirling thoughts―
uprooting the dream of wholeness.
8.
I spread rose petals
on your frame.
You smell―
like a garden.
Around the moons
I will draw the Caribbean sea
with a roving eye.
The lush green, your body
of domes and hairless seeds.
Skin starts burning like a peach.
9.
The flames
now leap. Sabotaging the surging blood.
A subtle and delicate presence begins.
The ism has a silent
fall. You can hear the turbulence
before the poem is born.
10.
The age
unwraps you.
Listening to the sounds of sea.
You are ready to face the ageless.
Time takes its
pound of flesh.
You bleed in grass.
Wind smears the pages with dust.
You were writing―
in praise of absence.
And when the full moon
gives a call, you
become speechless.
I have lost my home
again.
Satish Verma, 26 january 2021
Anointed truth
had no path. Path
was the truth.
Not a play of
emotions. I am talking
about the transparent
leaves pressed in the books
of fake religions.
When there were
fireflies, you deleted the rains
and sapwood saved
the lip's blues.
You rolled around
the burning pyre. Flames were
embracing the dark lies,
about the brailled poems.
Perfectly in harmony,
Bach was being played by
a blind artist. Did you know it?
ShareShare The Thick Skins
Renato N. Mascardo, 25 january 2021
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
Satish Verma, 25 january 2021
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.
Satish Verma, 24 january 2021
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.
Satish Verma, 23 january 2021
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
Satish Verma, 22 january 2021
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.
Renato N. Mascardo, 21 january 2021
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
Satish Verma, 21 january 2021
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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