Satish Verma, 9 october 2020
It was a mixed affair
of love and hate.
You are in deep water
to engage in a dialogue.
Almost farce was the
black ice. Animalism was the-
same. It was murder
in one form or the other.
The landscape would be
remembered for illicit violence.
The virgin sea hides the remains
of midair collision.
The purple men talk of
casualities in war times. The
relocation of peace march was
a big mistake. The vultures-
refuse to move from the trees.
Satish Verma, 7 october 2020
Becoming,
antinormal was not a-
big task, like discovering a new mineral.
It was upside down
a binary star.
Mother and son of morning.
From your absence,
I pick up a poem
and milk the words.
Unlike the purple poesy,
you write,
when the pith becomes the spirit.
The houses set apart
have no boundary layers.
We were immersed in our
strange thoughts.
Satish Verma, 6 october 2020
To skim the sky
like swifts,
when you move away
from yourself.
Holding a four-leaf clover,
night drapes the moon,
taking a lion's share of light
on its wings.
Your full lips defeat
the kisses of incense. I
will come again to
learn Ars poetica.
The fake blooms. I will
never see the death
of a rose petal, skipping
the barbs.
Satish Verma, 5 october 2020
Knowing the beginning
and the end,
you stand in water.
Transparency should
come first, waiting
for your time.
A blind pursuit for a brilliant moment,
to break the black rock.
The bloodstained eyes
tell the opacity of eternal lies.
Can you melt the darkness?
The holy edge was inviting.
You want to settle
for a suicide, after the hymns.
O golden peaks
I don't want to climb the illusion.
Sun was sitting in my room.
A bluebird was
staring at me. When do I
start laughing?
Satish Verma, 4 october 2020
Hot fish
becomes topiarist.
I want to remove the scales.
Once for all.
The lesser island
holds the boat. You
become ready to rove
in dark.
Hot fish
scrambles at dawn.
Do not open the eyes.
It will go straight.
Satish Verma, 3 october 2020
I would not bend the
truth. A grape in mouth
will stimulate the wedge.
Night will hammer on my chest
with glossy fists. I am born
again in your muteness.
A ghost line walks with me
to pull out the delicate verse.
Everyday a tulip is delivered
in the folds of woodcraft.
RENATA, 2 october 2020
Już tylko parę lat zostało
do ciepłych kapci i fotela
lecz ruszyła karuzela
zbiegów przypadków i wydarzeń
nie będzie marzeń
Rolnik szuka żony bez Ciebie
telenowel już nie obejrzysz
nie powiesz skarbie ryba kochanie
bo Tobie już wieczne spoczywanie
Zakręciło się w głowie
i kręci do teraz
świat zawirował
a Ciebie już nie ma
Boli głowa boli
z nadmiaru myśli
lecz już nie Twoich
Płaczą koleżanki i garstka kolegów
i ten jedyny coś była jego
a Tobie już wieczny spokój
bezczas w nieskończoność
Satish Verma, 2 october 2020
In this cruel summer,
body becomes a river-
embroiled in sun.
Gnomes tied to our
bones dragging you down. You clasp the portal
of a feral cat.
Obsession rises.
You kill the petty thoughts
discreetly.
On the edge-
comes the thrifty moon
in night. No holds barred.
In desperation, you
call all the dead stanzas.
Nobody believed in leper's tale.
The black eyes burn
without flames.
Satish Verma, 1 october 2020
In western sky
hundreds of small birds were
flying in an arc,
synchronized in orange.
The grass, holding
the skirts, wants to cascade
in death of the
paramour.
Let the copper-
speak of hurt, in the
thighs of moon.
It will not climb tonight.
Satish Verma, 30 september 2020
Impacted in lunar surface,
the centuries of dust and
dust of centuries, were willing to surrender
orange love,
hovering over your trajectory.
The second death will not
come, flesh consumed.
I will draw your profile
in white desert of psalms.
Life was a big funeral.
Footprints in snow were vanishing.
I have come afar from the
home. I don't want to leave
the traces of my missteps.
Time was very venomous.
The roses will not die, never.
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