George Krokos, 20 march 2018
When you hear all those trees
how they sing in the breeze
with their branches and leaves
which are now falling down
to cover the bare ground
and pile up in a mound
from where all of them grow
they begin then to show
that season we well know.
__________________
George Krokos, 20 march 2018
A God of peace and rest is within us all
that is why we have to heed sleep's call.
On a daily basis that is usually at night
we tend to fall asleep devoid of any light.
In that unconscious darkness of our soul
we find true rest and peace playing a role
in everyone's existence no matter who it is
a likeness of that sought as heavenly bliss.
It's an unconscious union with our Source
of which most people aren't aware of course.
Throughout our lives this discipline we keep
being an imperative need to get some sleep.
No creature can ever ignore it for too long
as its force is overwhelming and so strong.
It's a universal call for everything to return
back to where it came from that we discern.
It really couldn't be any other way unless
we get to experience a state beyond stress
that may come about when one is awake
in tune with a higher energy and it betake.
There are some higher dimensions of existence
that can be experienced without any resistance.
We just have to seek and find the secret place,
that is hidden inside us all, with Divine Grace.
________________________
Satish Verma, 20 march 2018
It was the day of
dead patriarch.
I was fondling an echidna.
The home was
carried away in the─
storm. Must find a broom.
On the remains─
of a burned-out soul.
A hope sits on the altar.
A piano drenched in rain─
will not sing in the gale.
The sky will collapse─
one day, I will bring
back the bluebird,
for a revenge.
Satish Verma, 19 march 2018
Festival of─
earthen lamps.
Separating the grain from chaff.
*
Pigeons will─
not be let out to fly.
It is going to be a moonless night.
*
The skin has peeled off.
Time to move on.
The bared trees.
Satish Verma, 18 march 2018
A dynast in the storm-razed
polity will ask─
for a pardon.
By choice there was
no suicide. You will
eat the clouds one day.
Taking the brunt, ─
living near the sea of
people, a window goes shut.
Curtly, with
levitation, the wind
twists, one and everybody.
An owl tattoo, will
tell it all. The hurricane
has reached your door.
Aftermath was a
conspiracy of silence.
Every one was speaking of landfall.
Paweł Szkołut, 17 march 2018
Each day gives birth to a poem
emerging from the whitness of morning
like Venus from the sea foam
its words embrace the world
with colorful threads of meanings
and encircle it with the garlands of metaphors
every day gives birth to a poem
sober by the sun rays,
intoxicated with dew and rain
its words are flying to the sky
like birds
to measure by their wings
the spaces of freedom
each day gives birth to a poem
in the palaces of imagination,
its words commence there
where the night
of nonexistence ends
in the evening, when the day is
passing away
in the embraces of darkness –
the poem remains forever
imperishable
like Logos
X 2002
Satish Verma, 17 march 2018
The limbs had the raw strength.
They were learning
to walk on the water.
The silver axe
will hack off the neck
after the daunting recovery.
In gestational surrogacy,
you don’t want
the incisors.
To kill a wanderer,
you need a howling─
wind, fledged.
A shoebox contains
the handprints of a skeleton
and liquid eyes.
The hunger has a blue
desire. A savage bite
will bring out the space.
Satish Verma, 16 march 2018
After the deluge: dark,
where the river,
meets the sea-
a city becomes a ghost.
*
The narrator,
went to sleep,
A story moved on.
*
A replica
steps out from the black
water, white
as the moon.
Satish Verma, 15 march 2018
Night was all black.
I could not find my
hands / half-dead─
velvety ribs. I want
to rub the spikes and─
toe the line of hurricane.
The naked eye, a-roving
will search for the moon
as the superstorm was─
poised for a landfall.
To receive the wrath─
the ants will find the─
watermark and move to
higher grounds. The sea
throws up the secret of unknown.
Satish Verma, 14 march 2018
Superstorm
outside. Inside a deep
ocean, thoughtless.
*
You want to know
the boundaries of scent.
A musk deer wonders.
*
After the death─
of hurricane, would you
come to see my hibiscus?
Poetry
Prose
Photography
Graphics
Video poems
Postcards
Diary
Books
Handmade
