Esther Hadassah Sendeza, 19 august 2019
Take the time to regroup.
Cry if you have to,
Focus on mending your soul,
Then start the work.
Rebuild your heart,
Piece by piece at your own pace.
Remember what made it beautiful,
Paint it with radiant colors,
Make it more beautiful than before.
Remember who you were,
Before you fell apart.
Then recreate yourself,
And become much better than before.
Do all this,
Intentionally,
On purpose.
Esther Hadassah Sendeza, 19 august 2019
Stop looking into my eyes,
You'll find nothing there.
Stop trying to let yourself in,
I have locked all my doors.
Stop throwing your heart to me,
Because I won't give you mine.
Stop opening up to me Because i won't let you in.
See I have built walls so high,
That no one can get past.
So, don't give me your heart,
Because darling, I won't give you mine.
Esther Hadassah Sendeza, 19 august 2019
You are your lifeline,
So take care of yourself.
Love yourself,
Fill yourself up,
Cheer yourself on,
Believe in yourself,
Invest in yourself.
Take breaks.
Re-energize.
Let it out.
Heal.
Exercise.
Give yourself pep talks.
Dip yourself in coconut oil.
Give yourself time.
Take a one hour bubble bath.
Take yourself on a date.
Go on a road trip.
Take care of your mind, body and soul,
Because you are your lifeline,
In this crumbling world.
Esther Hadassah Sendeza, 19 august 2019
I will not be lost
Not in the world and it's ways,
Not in the darkness that comes my way,
Not in the depths of my own mind,
Not in the disappointments,
Not in the failures,
Not in the success.
I choose to be grounded,
I choose to rise above,
I choose to pick myself up,
I choose to forgive,
I choose to try again,
I will not cave, I will not break,
I choose love.
See, I choose to still be me,
Whatever the experience.
Even when surrounded by dark waters,
My beautiful colours will still shine.
I will not get lost,
Not in this world,
Not in the next.
Satish Verma, 19 august 2019
An amniotic fluid initiates
the moon to the thunderstorm―
as you climb the tide.
Like a stag― opening the
summer, browsing on
the daisies.
It takes sometime
to sink. This was―
the peacock hour.
A finch will land―
on my shoulder and
look into my eyes, ritualizing it.
The glow was real
in your hair,
borrowed from the sun.
Satish Verma, 18 august 2019
Nestling in the arms of
blue sky, a young moon was asking
the questions―like the pages of moth-eaten
book― why did the blood ties
are ripped apart with the passage of time?
Of the same poles, at the
axis of rotation― two celestial bodies―
would not come near each other?
Following the heels of the
hunter, a small dog star sniffs at
the earth, a pale blue existence?
The entropion overwhelms. The
lashes were scarring the
vision?
The all was not one. I am
still standing at the gate,
bleeding like sun.
Satish Verma, 17 august 2019
This was a twisted ladder
for reduction of poverty,
which climbs the steps during
methane breach.
An absent presence will
snatch away, your unconscious
surrender. The scent had
made a wall of its own.
A summer fall incites the
book makers. The naming was
a secret bet. The dead will
never recall the skeletons.
Spawning an army of robots,
will you go to the volcano mount
to offer a living bait?
Satish Verma, 16 august 2019
This was not a witch
or witchcraft, striking
a pose to entice the sleep.
The grass will not―
listen the earthly
eavesdropping on moon.
Some extra neutral
wine for a resilient poet
who will refuse to die.
My color was not black
nor white. It had the
golden hue.
Your nails were very sharp
digging for a *Digambra
on my bare chest.
Satish Verma, 15 august 2019
Why do I give you the bliss―
of my poverty?
The burden of asking, was light.
Not like the unquenchable
thirst of a desert. I will be a
night blooming cereus.
In exile, I will remember
your sky, tying the stars in
my poems, to recall your shades
when the moon moves away.
The sunlight throws the voiceless
profiles of clouds, motionless
suspended, waterless― dead.
There is no traffic, no history
of any scandles. The corners of
my prayer book have―
become dog-eared.
Satish Verma, 14 august 2019
Not settled anytime
between a beast, an angel and the man:
who was indebted to whom.
A cyclic ritual it was, to pay the debt
to the eternal dancer, who
was, harbinger to catastrophe.
Not wanted to be judged.
Fatherless, a shadow moves―
in the womb of justice.
Why do the moon was in distress?
A catmint will improve―
your vision.
No artificial insemination was―
needed. The pungent smell
would put you off.
A taste of triangle, lying
next to the moon
in bed of water.
Poetry
Prose
Photography
Graphics
Video poems
Postcards
Diary
Books
Handmade
