Satish Verma, 21 february 2018
Looking back at self-portrait
was bewitching.
Self-abuse? Do you think
we should start preparing for a
holy murder?
Like bad sex, you hold
a blue thought and pick
up a fight with a radical dialogue.
If birds start leaving, what
you plan to do with contemporary
poetry.
In a locked room you left
your bloody footprints, sometime back.
Now you are caught with a
broken pen. Time was up. Hand
over your lips and become mute.
Satish Verma, 20 february 2018
Again. The search
will start
for the virgin truth.
Unseen. The invisible
character, unfolds
a bipolar paradox.
So far. I have come
groping in dark
for a terpsichare.
Spineless. You
fly in the wordless
blues of the veins.
The underbelly
was smooth, tied with a
criminal moon.
Satish Verma, 19 february 2018
Come via
moon gate. I will meet
you at midnight.
*
Only in halfway
house, I will find you
in dark.
*
O my firefly,
why have you come
to a wingless bird in dusk?
Renato N. Mascardo, 19 february 2018
yes and no
asking
whether she loves
me or not she merely
smiles in her quantum way leaving me
hanging//
renato
sunday 18 february 2018
Satish Verma, 18 february 2018
Beach walls? I have
lost the moon again,
in red wine.
The breast milk? Was
it a sexiest remark?
the fetus was still inside-
the womb of a closed-
circuit television. I had
the sharpest sight
in dark. You like
the pussy. It purrs, around
my ankles, when I
talk to a pregnant future.
Give me my croci.
I want to make my tea purple.
Satish Verma, 17 february 2018
Strange. You want to protect
the house after the attack.
Debunking the grammar. Take
a look at the cavernous eyes.
Do you find any rains?
Refresh drops. You will
need them, once a while.
The life. Hides many grudges.
It was scorching. A country
of cantos in politics. The-
language keeps on changing.
What was next, nobody knows.
The trees were there, the birds
there, but there were no leaves.
Satish Verma, 16 february 2018
Strange. You want to protect
the house after the attack.
Debunking the grammar. Take
a look at the cavernous eyes.
Do you find any rains?
Refresh drops. You will
need them, once a while.
The life. Hides many grudges.
It was scorching. A country
of cantos in politics. The-
language keeps on changing.
What was next, nobody knows.
The trees were there, the birds
there, but there were no leaves.
Satish Verma, 15 february 2018
Tension grips:
when you try to open
the jarred doors-
of the death.
It was on old friend,
on the cusp-
selling the dirt.
Was it the ending of
the beginning?
Who will go
beyond the dead
to find the immortal?
You have left
many cantos unfinished.
I will try, will try
to join the dots,
the dashes,
the parentheses.
Renato N. Mascardo, 14 february 2018
asymmetry
love when
less than requited
bears bitterness in
its wake//
renato
wednesday 14 february 2018
Satish Verma, 14 february 2018
Sitting at a funeral;
in ashes, you search-
the faces of dead. To
shut down the apostrophes.
How far was your home,
you don’t want to
go back? A black moon
invites the tallest flare-
of the sun. Bright
death will ask no compensation.
You can travel over half-
memories of frozen pain.
Hourglass to Kundo clocks,
you were collecting all the
souvenirs to stall the
translations from coast to coast.
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