Satish Verma, 23 june 2019
It bends― the chastity―
the illicit vows. O, let me
become an artisan. I will
ensue― a new harvest of sandalwood.
Don’t light the joss sticks.
There is no abstract presence―
of him. Nobody knows―
you, better than me.
Search the―
magnum opus and you will
find that― man has failed…
to clear the debris of the Fort.
Strange happenings, still
take place. Grass is still green …
in solitude, a poem
takes birth.
Satish Verma, 22 june 2019
Since you knew, ―
it was going to cast a shadow.
I let the question hang in air.
Death was known, ― only to man?
My suffering begins today. Adding―
my two cents, I go wild. Too few
white blood cells cruising in the veins.
Like lightning strike― I put myself
in harm’s way.
Bright yellow―
the gold and fire, absolutely opaque
decimating the drooping primula.
Impulsive, ― I raise the lid
of blazing rage. A divine exposure.
A millennium melts
beneath the carpet of snow.
kipruto muthemba, 21 june 2019
Slap me,
Kick me.
Your touch,
I need it so much
In any form or hutch
Hold me,
Feel me.
Your touch
will leave me breathless
helplessly wishing it endless
Kick me,
Hug me.
Your touch
I am yearning for your hands and fingers
And their sensations on me that lingers
touch so powerful, it will turn my winters
into sweet, beautiful, warm summers.
kipruto muthemba, 21 june 2019
nothing accentuates,
exaggerates and punctuates,
your curvaceous beauty,
and that humongous booty
like that figure-hugging blue dress.
this I must address
and I confess,
that it leaves me delirious,
hypnotized by the mysterious,
marbles it hides underneath so elegantly,
marvels that send stimulating sensual images,
…naughty images! that set my mhogo on fire.
now on you, am stuck like glue,
am now obsessed with blue,
possessed by you,
and wholly yours.
Satish Verma, 21 june 2019
Lethal mix
of blood ties― before
a fugue delivers its tremors.
A rage visits with the dark voices...
Reverberating in death chamber.
Heat seeking― the missile
goes straight into the heart of the Himalayas.
I am still recovering―
from the eternal fires― of biligual nights.
I am transfixed―
in my shoes― facing shoulder
fired― a sentence ejecting its hate.
Satish Verma, 20 june 2019
Becoming wise to
your faults. I will not wear
any talisman.
No fireworks were needed
to celebrate the return
of the sane fakir.
Standing up― was the biggest
ideal of the oppressed. I
repeat the act.
Taking the helm― without
retribution― was a challenge
thrown by the dark.
I have come to be reborn
in the name of symbols
broken.
Satish Verma, 19 june 2019
You have kept the
script― to age in dark,
silent night.
Drawn into the upheaval,
of grains―
ready to strike the mouth.
Nameless wheels were out
to carry the gay pride.
I am not amused of the day.
Who was naturally―
born― breathlessly, holding
the flag, to spite the clan.
A pink window was
stolen from the green house.
The light now burns black.
Satish Verma, 18 june 2019
I did not mean to hurt.
Do not try to flute―
drinking the lianas,
wearing a fatigue. Then comes―
the shoot. Like a scarecrow
I sway― the slug― passes through me.
You ask me to turn over―
the death mask―
giving a smile. There was no
reprisal. Must bring under reins―
the pounding heart― I cannot talk.
Alone to mend my grief, the
scaled loss of bliss. Do not want to
use any metal. Poverty becomes
my strength. Fears will stand with me.
I am empty like a glass.
Satish Verma, 16 june 2019
Coming to an end the
consecration. The land will
not give you any god.
Only the demons will come in your dreams.
If it were window, the
street will send the black
noises in your house.
I will not wait
for snow-melting.
The slum was going to be
sliced off.
Wet from the rainfall,
the grain cannot be milled
and you will not eat my sprouts.
I cannot sail now.
It must be very dark
and the glossary
very foul.
Satish Verma, 15 june 2019
Out of ambit― you resume
the surfing again― on
yellow tulips―
in misting valley.
One who will not bless
the seed― will sit
in shadow of hunger.
Do not touch the―
impossible blue of the
eyes, unhunted by the tears.
Snare or be snared. If
there was a flint and
the steel― do you think the
spark will be faraway?
In silent night, I will open
the crypt to have a look again―
at the wornout cloak of a paragon.
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