Satish Verma, 3 april 2017
It was middle noon
on the deserted street.
Nobody will come out
to greet the sun.
You will lift the fallen leaves
to soften the blow,
corrupting the morality
crouching in the shadow.
A slumber was needed
to get the head shaven.
Touching the dust,
the heat, the winds.
Dig a sinking hole
deep in the heart.
It will suck all your tears
all your salt.
Wiadomsky, 2 april 2017
nothing
just nothing
just no
within
outline of me
beyond
something is
something
to be
or not to be
for anything
Satish Verma, 2 april 2017
Nonchalantly
you rip the smile off,
from the face of a sleeping Buddha.
It was time
to start digging a weeping
hole in the grave of an ancient-
god who would not wake up
after you found blood on the knife.
What was your mandate
after finding the turmoil
in the tunnel for light?
The life sentence passed on
to vultures will give the
corpse a chance to live.
On one side were the angles
developing the spatial memory.
On other side you were
sitting in a cage.
Joe Breunig, 1 april 2017
Too many people are fearful, regarding
contact with The Divine; they realize
that they will be transformed by God,
but unrelentingly remain unwilling…
to make a commitment to His Kingdom.
Being identified as a Christian, grips
them with apprehension; the idea of
ridicule pierces their soul; wisdom
from God currently evades them, since
a deficiency of Faith constrains them;
with the presence of the Holy Spirit,
one is empowered to properly evince
God’s Truth for successful living.
We’re made to stand out; holy fire
within us illuminates God’s Love at
work in us with humble thanksgiving.
Author notes
Inspired by:
Exo 19
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2017, All rights reserved.
Joe Breunig, 1 april 2017
Yahweh understands the irony
surrounding us; though we’re
unneeded, but wanted by Him…
shows our ignorance; to see
Him as He is, would exceed our
current level of comprehension.
And yet, we have opportunities
to truly savor His divine power.
When will our pathetic attitudes,
towards Him and others change,
given Salvation’s promise, that’s
the result of the Great Exchange?
Author notes
Inspired by:
John 3:16; 2 Cor 5:21 and
The irony is that while God doesn’t need
us, but still wants us, we desperately
need God, but don’t really want Him most
of the time. ―Francis Chan
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2017, All rights reserved.
Satish Verma, 1 april 2017
It was like homecoming of
timber rattle snake.
A bit jarring.
Signs were acquitted,
when the summer becomes
sensuous at dusk.
I start collecting the colors
from sky. The night was
moving behind the moon-
like a concubine, in black
skirt. Amidst the gray clouds
a green man was laughing.
The death’s translation
was simple. Nobody will
attend the funeral of sun.
Satish Verma, 31 march 2017
A fast in hurry. you
pretend that you
were dead.
The legend survives,
putting the land’s blood
in the grass roots.
The tremors had started
in the blue flame. A lunatic
calls for the moon to explain.
The tides were not coming?
Watching hopelessly;
the decline of sinkers.
A watershed of humility.
The river has left the
body of water.
Satish Verma, 30 march 2017
It was getting dark.
The silence starts speaking
to me in a whisper
for the sake of secrecy.
Right now,
the violence will start
between the summer night
and a brilliant moon.
I sit in a corner
to watch the milk spilling.
And then, after couple of hours
an anonymous call from
a cuckoo in distress. Somewhere
a dry twig snaps off. Something
is tossed in air. A shadow pokes
at moon to return the favour.
The dawn, drops the veil!
Satish Verma, 29 march 2017
Sitting on the hill,
nestled against the moon,
talking to stars.
You love a woodpecker.
What a stupid thing.
A panther dies of thirst.
A tall fern unfurls
the frond, to catch
a crested iguana.
In deep blue water
seventeen summers
drowned, in one go.
A sapsucker goes
on, making holes,
in my psyche.
A tree will wait
for the summer to end.
Then it will tow the rain.
Satish Verma, 28 march 2017
Fixing the dignity
like a fabulous sarcophagus
you are unsparing in your generosity.
You left one window open
for the saint of wax
to let in the light.
Keeping him alive for –
a fake functionality
to run the community.
There was a long queue
of people to offer the wooden roses
before the wound heals.
Who was eternal in this
vanishing universe? Do-
not stop me of if I start bleeding.
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