steve, 6 november 2020
Trapped inside myself, there's no place I can hide,
No escape, no salvation, only years of tears I've cried,
You don't know what it does to me, when you come into view...
How it tears me up inside, because I'm in love with you,
Knowing you will never care, or ever touch my skin...
Or ever really get to know, the person that I am,
Trapped and all alone, bottled up for years...
She'll never have her freedom... but she can have her tears,
No one even knows... that she lives at all...
The chains that hold her down, keep her shackled to her walls,
She'll never see the light of day, she'll never be set free...
Though she loves, she'll not be loved, such is destiny.
steve, 6 november 2020
I can't hear your tortured thoughts, or see what you've been through...
But I can feel your pain from here, through miles of missing you,
I'm sorry if I made you think, somehow I didn't care...
I never meant to bring to you, feelings of despair,
I care so much from my heart, it swells the fear in me...
I'll ask myself "What am I doing?" I clearly cannot see,
I have no right to put on you, what I think I need...
No matter how much pain I feel, no matter what I bleed,
A world away what do I have, that could ever make you see...
All I have to offer you, is all I have of me,
steve, 6 november 2020
Time has kept me prisoner, with the dreams I have of you...
Keeping me awake each night, with things that I can't do,
Slowing down the hands of time, in the middle of the night...
Minutes turn to hours, as time holds back the light,
It's only in the darkest hour, that time is standing still...
When I miss you most of all, time only you could fill,
Dreams are all I have of you, as time keeps you at bey...
But even time must run it's course, as time just ticks away,
And when the time has finally passed, just maybe we'll both see...
How precious time really is, and what our time could be.
Satish Verma, 6 november 2020
In searing heat, on
the fern path-
a thoughtless journey begins.
You cancel the prayer
for midnight blues.
Ice was going to unload.
The skin deep spread
of levator floor acts.
You jump from a springboard
to catch a lucid dream.
Would you now walk like
an eight legged spider?
I will remain sociable.
The hands are not for sale.
I am arranging the combs
on the white sheet-
for the queens.
Satish Verma, 5 november 2020
You loosen the grip
and let go the bank.
After throwing itself on the
burning pyre, the phoenix
has failed. It will-
not rise from the ashes.
An agonizing script
unfolds. In a visceral moment,
I was scared. Life, till natural death.
What do I do now? Words
do not help. Stop doing anything?
A void becomes a voice.
You become whole.
Living precariously, thinking
becomes a tree. The roots
will feed the heart.
A songbird reminds me.
Time to salute the dawn.
Satish Verma, 4 november 2020
It was a marathon race of
timeline. The days are bound and shot.
How do I come to you to express
my grief of the country
in tumult!
In shouting and screaming,
there was no magic wand to invoke
peace. Your mouth opens
and shuts like the shell valves. The
scollops- words, swim in
sea of burials.
The seriality was unconscionable.
It falls short of a stroke.
The blood splits. A riot erupts
to wet the lips of curved razor.
The sun retreats, to let
the stars find their sky.
Satish Verma, 3 november 2020
My little dirty moon,
why were you hiding-
when the vulture-poems had
an uncanny similarity with
raging road show?
The volatility would not exit.
It rises in flames to make
a big black hole in the sky.
Sometimes I hate you,
sometimes I, love you,
my elusive, beautiful karma.
At night when I disappear
what poem you will read?
In fast-running stream, your
croaking will not be heard.
Try to begin a dance of democracy.
Satish Verma, 2 november 2020
Wanting to die young
hairy and unbaked,
not telling the truth.
It was a savage vendetta.
The crowd was not on your side.
In manic intensity,
they shouted- death to the veils
in holiest dip.
I repudiate the presumptiveness.
A super religion gives birth
to a devil- another godman.
In chains, I will carry
a cloud. Very disquieting.
There was no water.
The seeds crawl-
underground in the wake of earthquake.
Collecting the tears to grow.
It is a blank summer.
The fat spiders open the eyes.
RENATA, 1 november 2020
zamknięci w szaleństwie
chciała mieć męża pisarza
nie głupca i nie gołodupca
i takiego se wzięła wbrew woli
rodziców wielbił ją na równi
z butelką im więcej zarabiał
tym więcej trwonił wyzwolenie
i ekstrawagancja kazały brnąć
do przodu wciąż podróże
przez burze alkoholu imprezy
i jej znudzenie ciągłe czekanie
a gdy przestał korzystać z jej cipki
z szafy wyszły pluskwy i karaluchy
on nabrzmiał i zsiniał słynna whiskey
i wino dobierały słowa a żona ozdoba
bez celu kontrolowana broszka
wyrywająca się poza za i przeciw
jego potrzeb kropką nad i alfą i omegą
jego paranoją zamknięci banderolą
złudzeń i czas gdy Hemingway był
dla Scota odkryciem przykryciem guru
bezsnem i snem zazdrością i podejrzeniem
rzucał pet za petem z kieliszka impetem
a ona tęskniła za prawdziwym facetem
wciąż pisał targał gniótł wyrywał i pisał
jej obrazy taniec pisanie zasnute mgłą
jego zazdrości a nóż będzie lepsza
i czuła była noc do czasu
gdy piękni przeklęci
dobiegali kresu
on osiadł na mieliżnie
ona dostała kuku na muniu
Satish Verma, 1 november 2020
Night falls in rings.
The poetry becomes
a summer dilemma.
A dancing frog
starts foot-flagging.
Mating was the ultimate.
Politics becomes
a ritual. I will not come back
to face the lynch mob.
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