Satish Verma, 26 february 2017
You will not abandon me,
but kill me gently
reciting a hymn.
As if the speech was slurred,
after the encounter.
Time. It was not yours, not mine.
Punctuated again in
less moon,
I am searching the frozen lake.
Unuttered gratitude. I
will not submit the ultimate.
Barrier reef was rising.
I sit alone
down the lane.
Waiting for the sunset.
Joe Breunig, 25 february 2017
Do we need to debate an argument
of objective morality, to prove
God’s existence? Can’t we look…
upward towards the sky and beyond,
to clearly observe a magnificence
of His, spectacular handiwork?
Are we nothing more than animals,
stuck in a plague-filled universe
of endless, ruinous destruction?
Are certain levels of violence
deemed acceptable and necessary?
Are we seeking excuses… to shirk
away from the responsibilities
of being our brother’s keeper?
Can our human actions be judged
simply, as either good or bad,
to match our current disposition?
Can any of our behaviors work
favorably, to move us from a state
of chaos to one of divine peace?
Is Love and self-sacrifice genuine?
Or should we just live with a sad
realization, that we prefer to act
badly as only… inhumane jerks?
Author notes
Inspired by:
Gen 4:9, 6:5; Jer 17:9; 1 John 4:8
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2017, All rights reserved.
Joe Breunig, 25 february 2017
With the Hebrew letters of MEM,
VAV, LAMED and SHIN, one finds
an inner meaning overlooked by
most people; it also condemns
those who are following Satan.
Although its primary influence
is a declaration of serenity
and peace, souls may be shaken-
as they learn about the prayer’s
prophetic nature; its numeric and
pictographic language contributes
another, sizable spiritual layer
to its foundational definition.
At its core, it translates to:
“Destroy all authority connected
with any chaos and confusion.”
Author notes
Inspired by:
1 Cor 14:33 and (שָׁלוֹם)
Shalom (in Hebrew)
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2017, All rights reserved.
Satish Verma, 23 february 2017
I was learning, how
not to catch you.
Called the cloud
hugging a hillside.
Can you climb on the road?
No, it said, I want to play with the moon.
So,
this was becoming,
without presence.
An epiphany? No it was a crying
theme, discovery of the self.
When the tremors came,
you were flung like a doll,
opening the earth
one breath long.
Swallows were eyeing the sky.
•
The hollow tree
traps the light and sends out
the blue pupils of yellow eyes.
I am still counting the limbs
under the boulders.
The landmass was moving asking names.
The big vulture was watching
the end of the feast,
for schizophrenics.
A bomb hidden in turban will
kill a saint. You say I should
call for the girls.
Why don't you wear the skullcap
to cover the beautiful mind
which will not kiss the fire?
Satish Verma, 22 february 2017
The questions hang like skin tags.
A broken mirror, stabs
during birth of time.
We have got to do it, save it
in its infancy, before it is submerged
along with the temple of fake gods: -
before it is plagiarized by the
polity. The wives were fattening
on art of running the state
from behind the curtains. Would
you like to sign on my skin?
Your death wish? I am washing
my sins today. It is bit cold
here in the blue lake of tears. Now
you can hold my arm for final plunge.
Satish Verma, 21 february 2017
They were decapitated
in winter.
To send forth again, fresh,
the green twigs of summer.
Trees of roadside.
My friends, I used to talk
to them in my morning walk.
Once I sat under
a wishing tree for a divine feel.
There were lots of colored threads
tied round the massive trunk.
I wanted to arrive in the neighbourhood
of absurd escapes of a
fake religion.
My footfalls on stairs were becoming
louder, lugging the wasted life.
It was time now.
To understand the deep shadows
of unanswered questions.
Satish Verma, 20 february 2017
That cameo was my secret grief.
He will make you sing,
the hooded moon.
Not a sacred thing
Kissing the toes of a traveller
for fecundity.
In doorway it was between
us and them for bargaining
for Dahlias.
Lips unkissed will call for
honey from bees.
Eyes will srarch for a candle.
In alien land of flames
and tumultuous desires,
the golden breasts will take revenge.
Satish Verma, 19 february 2017
Changing thoughts
were creating chaos in frenzy,
unabashed, following the stricken
prey, to reclaim
the violence of a stalker.
Was there any law of jungle?
Or rule of law in the midstream
of a formless prosthesis,
gaping void, throwing up
a primordial fear.
Becoming tired of looking at
the wastes around. No mystery
was left in life. How often you
will sit on the pyre to ignite the high
priests of knowledge?
The curved images of receding
years are disappearing. How long
you will wait,
how long?
Satish Verma, 18 february 2017
I am lifting
your blood-soaked shirt
giving the latitude to planet
which broke the law.
The elite
wants to know, why you were
still here, when steam was rising
in golden night?
An extended
grief overtakes the wind
in the flute. You become a free man
walking naked.
The gyres
were calibrating the magi.
An empty niche waits for a Buddha
to take the re-birth.
Satish Verma, 17 february 2017
Now I am used to
betrayals.
I don’t hit back
in the vanishing light.
Very frightening,
I will say.
Sightless bats hovering
round your head.
Have started playing
the game with the nettle.
I will take the stings
and give you back honey.
An intimate kiss of a
naked beetle.
Are you coming for the
last supper?
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