Satish Verma, 7 march 2017
It in now dark.
Talking of exposed genitalia
I go into a terrible shock.
A compulsive deceit
takes hold of the attention.
The candle burns me inside.
Between eyes
a *chakra uncoils, like a Naja.
Strikes! You are stricken-
with a bulbar palsy.
No haemorrhage. A purple venom
spreads in the whole nativism.
Voices move in half-lit corridor.
The doors do not lead to rooms.
All exits disappear.
A chandelier crashes. You
are awakened from a deep slumber.
A poem is born.
Satish Verma, 6 march 2017
Are you sure after the sunset
the hunger will find the mouths
in black alley?
I go to my ailing land.
Stand on a mass grave.
No faces, No names.
Brother, I am not bickering
I am listing on my fingers.
Was it possible that we could
count the virgins in the town?
Mudslinging starts. Who was not
corrupt? The prevailing conjugation.
How you will tell your kid who
was your mother?
I become restless, tossing around.
A single word shimmers like a
blood soaked jewel. I pick it up.
A baby poem is born.
Satish Verma, 5 march 2017
Candle by candle
you burn your dreams
unflaying the blue veins.
That makes you still beautiful
hanging in sky.
On the dead land your feet
will not touch the pond. Stumbling
I bring botanica to cover
your innocent faults
for telling the truth.
That makes me feel guilty.
I pretend to be not what I am.
This is the time when I start
hitting the road, missing the
scandalous moon who will -
kiss me hard when I was alone.
Just a fleeting pain. I ask you
to become a tree, so that I
can sit under your shade
and write a poem.
Joe Breunig, 5 march 2017
Are you today, wasting your wilderness?
Don’t you know, it’s appointed by God?
Nothing is squandered in His economy;
are you diligently seeking His holiness?
Do you realize, that He will humble you,
will test you and will do right by you?
Are you prepared for the future blessing,
that’s on its way? Soon you will view
God’s plan and purpose that He’s crafted…
especially for you! Rejoice loudly now!
Though you’re excessively burdened with
challenges, you’ve been divinely adapted
with abilities and strength to become
flexible, to be led by His glory cloud,
not taking matters into your own hands;
are you allowing Him to loving plumb…
your weary soul and eternal spirit?
Author notes
Inspired by:
Rom 8:28; Deu 8; Jam 1:1-4; 2 Cor 1:8-9;
Num 9:15-10
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2017, All rights reserved.
Satish Verma, 4 march 2017
The animal thing inside:
My half-brother,
was unsettling me.
Over the sunset I watch
the drawing procession
carrying the dead body of a tiger.
The light is fading. The stripes
were becoming a myth. The
guest was ready to depart.
I am holding the molten lava
in an urn. In the black sky
a satellite burns to undo the grief.
There is no death, no stopping.
A face pressed between the leaves
of a book smiles.
You come back to me in rains.
I call you by cinders dancing
in the mirror of whistling time.
Satish Verma, 3 march 2017
There was a big question. Why
one was not raped.
It hits the gate of heaven.
The moon has not risen.
I become a victim of an elegy
before my demise.
Thus I am back to square one,
when I had not fallen in love
and you were still in errancy.
Pleading for levitation in tender
zone.It was the blackbird
which was not ready to swallow a moon.
Scaling the peaks without climbing.
I am going to bring down the milk
of an artist, who would not
paint a goddess.
Satish Verma, 2 march 2017
I asked the suicide bomber,
“why you want to throw yourself
to your death
scattering arms and legs? ”
A beautiful moon
then, rammed into a golden lake
to find the secret age of
a wee god.
I felt the colossal waste
and said, look within first
and then cross the river
of arguments.
Like a diamond ring
I wear the truth of morning sun.
My heart will ask, what was
the role of night in draping
the stars around the deceiver.
Satish Verma, 1 march 2017
The moon was moving
stealthily in wilderness.
Time was running out
tracing the shape.
I let her go, the
comely thing, putting on
hold, the teetering
poem.
Running faster than light, the
words catch you in midstream.
A warlord wants to put on
a helmet in night.
It was raining sparks and
cinders. You walk along the
redoubts, obliterating
simmering footsteps.
I am not a loser
dancing in the pit of snakes.
Bring the sweetness of venom.
I am alive.
Satish Verma, 28 february 2017
Mountains were coming down to
never-home,
in surreal rebuff to shaking earth;
emerging from the shadows of sky.
In groping for the legs
this was the myth of lynching.
You are drenched in the rains
of promises.
A kiss for each lethal penetration,
for global time-
you are becoming a wasteland
borne out of swollen fingertips-
who would not write any name.
The many words of pain are finding
a new meaning from the vocabulary
of conceit and betrayals.
A deliberate isolation brings
the sound sleep to ashes to become a thing.
Satish Verma, 27 february 2017
The lesson
of sudden fall
and forgotten kiss.
Everytime I was afraid of me
unforgiving the gorge
of blue mountains.
When I usher you in sun
you flare up in color violet-green
I stay in ebony's arms -
with eye spaces
and everything turns water,
water of a lake.
I will not remember the shooting
stars when you are beside me.
Drifting curves had left behind
the seeds, planted under the moon.
Now they are exploding
one by one in the conch.
•
Tending to my pain
when you were unborn
O my poem
how you lay on me
asking for the whole truth
which would undo the helix
in eye long vision.
If the loneliness smiles
I will call you.
I will call you.
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