Satish Verma, 8 december 2020
The tremors. One day
I would know. The trees are walking.
No miracle. We are-
becoming rootless.
The fear, was palpable.
Nowhere to go. All the roads
were blocked. The king
is being anointed after the bloodbath.
No logical lie was needed
for targeted killing.
Why did you start the
bonfire near the oil wells?
Satish Verma, 6 december 2020
The night poem
crucial
was the breast-feed
the train whistles by
the thugs squirm
no waylaiding now
in the dark hour
till the moon rises
the drag queens
are out to collect
the marbles
would you play the chess?
faithfall will spring
a surprise becoming
god himself
do not tell any prayer-
Satish Verma, 5 december 2020
Though inaudible, I will
hear you- clear and distinct,
offering to be understood.
Destigmatizing the ghost of truth
and be accepted.
The noises still persist
of the parables. Who was the
king without a crown?
Accepting nihilism, I will
ask my inner voice, will
you meet the god?
In anguish I search the answers
to deepest mysteries.
Do not wash the words.
Your hands will pick up
the fallen moon in dirt.
The slanted eyes.
You want to drown in the
crevices of pain.
RENATA, 4 december 2020
ma poczucie wartości równe zero
chce być motylem a jest brzydką heterą
z ogłoszenia wpada na bąki i szerszenie
dbała i starała się a jutro było coraz gorsze
leci leci do światła
chcąc
być najpiękniejsza
jej ikariada trwa
nadal i nadal
dopóki ogień myśli nie strawi
i spocznie we własnym grobie
Satish Verma, 4 december 2020
Everything was in place,
and I started to find-
the kingpin, door by door.
Wanted to know more about the death,
when you were struck in silence-
of blackness.
Displaying the art of kill. It has
an ancient throw of fangs.
I am ready to catch the blues.
All day the hibiscus has
been bleeding. I will never
disappoint the skin of the pilgrim.
Oh pink eyes. Sometimes
I wonder, why this shade rests
after wedding a celibate.
Satish Verma, 3 december 2020
Eclectically, do not say anything;
put a bullet in your head
and go to sleep.
I know what was coming
after the ballot. A heap of
abuses, for not maintaining the war.
The presence you can feel,
I am the native of this land― when
hurricane comes, you untie the shoes.
May be, wearing a dark suit,
the bartender comes and pours the
honey in your broken glasses.
The music must not stop. The
black spiders, with paired legs have
synchronized with myriapods.
Satish Verma, 2 december 2020
Aquilla. Would you
carry the burden
of ungiving?
Transmuted, I
will find you in portrait
of sublime?
And I will see in your eyes
a cosmos, floating in void.
But a primal question
remained unanswered, who were you.
Through the blue sky
and legends of dark, the
constellations squirm.
And I start believing
in God dust.
Satish Verma, 1 december 2020
The ostrich problem
of catalepsy.
You go into a cocooned
opacity.
I will wait, till you
come out, ready to take a flight
for an oath ceremony.
The land suffers,
the sky weeps.
The shotguns would now decide
the boundaries of speech.
I will walk into the
sea of heads, to find the sunken ship,
to retrieve the faded road map.
I have to face a new testament,
how to remove this poverty
of right words.
Satish Verma, 30 november 2020
You will remember-
what I would not- the
inner darkness of noon.
A bright sun goes
blind for a caged bird. To
dream or not to dream in
the path of unknown.
Any celestial movement-
will bring the halcyon days?
One day the man will change?
This culture, your
ethos were making the
sense datum extinct- a fossil.
Far from the meanings
the body language flies
in wings of wax.
Again an era ends,
the very blood of stones.
Satish Verma, 29 november 2020
Night blinks.
Light sits under the door.
I am ready to confront the moon.
Too much brilliance
was there. Would you redesign
the blue sky and paint the new stars?
Poverty was my great strength.
Nothing to lose, when
you were dancing with the shadows.
Poetry
Prose
Photography
Graphics
Video poems
Postcards
Diary
Books
Handmade
