Satish Verma, 29 september 2020
Not a single word
wept, when sky was overcast.
Who wins ultimately?
The cell in the death,
or death in the cell?
I tried,
I tried not to do any wrong.
The centuries suffered.
The pollen in the wind
will not land. Each grain
was a harbinger of a relic.
The purple tears-
for bread and water. Who was
not hungry?
A peacock dance
goes waste-
without rains.
Satish Verma, 28 september 2020
Again I have come back
in the crowd of fakes,
to understand the nature
of dark.
The questions have become
my beacons, I am prodding deep
to stumble on the temper,
ethos of white lies.
You will not take your own
life now. We will stop grieving for
the sunken ferry. Who allowed
the novice, third mate to steer the ship?
Do you know, where the country
was going? The swords had
become a junk shop. Tongues stale,
the language foul.
So we will go for a collective hara-kiri?
Satish Verma, 27 september 2020
The cannibalism was back.
You were eating yourself
alive.
The guts spilt,
would meet the dust,
in abode of earthworms.
They creep and burrow
and bury the organic themes.
Unpolluted, untouched.
The bowels undulate,
to the thumping rhythm,
of greedy feet. White eagles?
How far this digging
of gold mines will go?
Someone had swallowed the glitter.
Black birds are joining
the procession of
empty hearses.
RENATA, 26 september 2020
Ten pierwszy sprowadzał
mnie na niziny gdzie
czułam się nikim
jak Syzyf
toczący w dół swój ból
odcięłam go jak
stukilowy garb
Tak chciałam być przytulana
w te bezsenne noce
nawet
przez trzeszczącego maszkarona
gdziekolwiek jesteś rycerzu
podam siebie na talerzu
Pod koniec samotnych wędrówek
z dreszczykiem emocji
przebierałam w koszu
pełnym zgniłych jabłek
starając się wybrać mniej robaczywe
i tak po kolei ślimaki gady
krokodyle goryle glonojady
lwy tygrysy gepardy
w sosie z musztardy
koguty psy jaszczury płazy
przyczepiają swe usta do mojej twarzy
szkaradne nietoperze ślepe jeże cwane lisy
jadowite pająki węże w kieszeni leżeli
jeden po drugim w mojej pościeli
gdzie Ci mężczyzni szaleni tacy
kulturalni i szarmanccy
z błyskiem w oku o cielęcym wzroku
melodramatyczni poeci królowie mroku
od grzechu do grzechu
skazani na pokutę
i tak następni jak zwierzęta
deptali mi po piętach
stając się bezimienni
gdzie Ci mężczyzni z gwiezdnego pyłu
stają się nudni zostają z tyłu
w tym moim świecie utkanym z gwiazd
odnajdę Ciebie gdy przyjdzie czas
Satish Verma, 25 september 2020
Unresponsive, an
alien ego: I was moving
deep into the soul-search.
The compactness was
snapping. Played against
the hype, the hawks were descending.
Like milkweed I drip,
waiting to be kissed. Copycat
the moon makes a scar. I am hurt.
I wanted to touch you
behind the lens. Closed in,
the lips won't meet. Cobra will
not spread the skin.
The lamb has lost the
innocence. Knife was
a blessing.
Satish Verma, 24 september 2020
There were involuntary
pauses.
When you stretch at the sheets.
Those were scorching
questions, about my identity.
I tell, I don't have any name.
The body was partitioned.
My head belongs
to psalms, which I don't understand.
My torso to the lost
ship which went down
without a torpedo.
My legs were my own
taking me, to places, where
I did not want to go.
Satish Verma, 23 september 2020
Like inky jet,
ejected on white paper,
the cuttlefish
of a poet-
was warding off the
unseen enemy.
The dry flattened
chest, would remind you
of a chalky desert.
Only cacti grow there.
You go into a trance,
then convulsive seizures, with
a loud scream. You
invoke the toddler god
who would kill king cobra
fifteen feet long.
Satish Verma, 22 september 2020
A manic moon
in ethereal night-
supplicating for a single
cord.Not becoming unfaithful
to me.
An empty desire-
in your absence, remaining
a secret even to myself.
Becoming pseudo, full
of titles, that was not my
world.I am engulfing my
achievements away
from you.
As the life moves on
leaving the bloody footprints
on my chest.I will
always fight my demons
with my broken pen.
Not a blessing I need,
I want to remain a human being.
Satish Verma, 21 september 2020
Genderless,
instrusive, was the withering effect,
questioning the sex.
Filling the space
between body and soul, you
sail into emptiness.
The mistakes-
happen in night, sleep.
Death will drop the stars.
Ergo, the embedded
testes will not descend; you
can kill the sperms of mosquitoes.
Blueberries, haul you
up from the darkness.
You will find your sun now.
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