Satish Verma, 31 march 2016
My altered sensorium goes berserk
when I hear four - letter words like nuke and kill,
love and hate, repeatedly.
The decrepit age full of abused prisms
deflects the sunrays for warlords.
Here I am ripened in pain of a withering syndrome,
collecting the live mushrooms
from rainwashed wastelands.
The primrose way of life did not agree.
To become untrue to the whiff and waft of summer dunes
was difficult and I remained entombed in scented air.
Phantasy was a beautiful garden for me.
Was it a desiccated, mental frame,
matured, but manic isolation from an aligned life?
or walking alone in a desert of hidden paths?
But I was my own tailor.
I presume,
evil must be alive in erotica,
the myth of erected columns in history to celebrate a victory.
My brow sweats when I start climbing the steps.
An identity crashed in mud
I felt a sense of depression, flickering off and on,
dying several times amidst the jasmines and bougainvillaeas.
Hiding in fog, a serial killer has been
nominated a blind judge.
Fainting and waking up with hallucinations,
sick in limbs, my journey starts
for violent similes, mindless but full of stops.
My words were not mine. The symbols ruled the day.
The past will always morph into future
but my present will be here
in my flights, weary but strong in veins,
My sun may be eclipsed for today
but the bright century moves on!
Renato N. Mascardo, 31 march 2016
sipping
my cup of hot
sake i no longer
taste its sweetness
gone like your smile
just before you left.
renato
wednesday 30 march 2016
Satish Verma, 30 march 2016
Always struck by infinity,
I was searching a center,
and time was walking through me mutely.
Covered in tremors I was ready to abdicate
the flavours of life.
Exhausted, wearing rags of knowledge
I discovered the finite in hostile virtues.
This was a manic dance full of foggy dreams
scaling the impossible insomnia
and silence was falling like snow flakes.
Silhouette of death hovers around the praying lips,
we pocket the coins of memories
and forget the bitter past.
Perpetual stress breaks the neck
awfully engraving the pain.
I stammer for a barometer.
I perceive you my ghost, a reminder
of my frightened childhood, when I lost my home
in the labyrinth of mirrors.
Cannot stop it, the dark now spreading in the eyes,
My kids won’t understand my hushed withdrawl.
Renato N. Mascardo, 29 march 2016
little sparrow first
to peck on scattered seeds soon
sent off by big jay
renato
tuesday 29 march 2016
Satish Verma, 29 march 2016
Onlooker to your own empty life, you try to conceal
it was not that simple, to confess in silence.
Pain was the first question,
I give no answer.
The smell of pungent sweat
and levitating incense are entwining in the air.
Seeking my own truth, I abandon the path
and fall upon lies.
The lofty drama of life unfolds.
I was not seeking any labels.
Devoid of sanity, the possessed people were dancing,
around the fire without flames.
Fear of infinity haunts me,
I must answer to myself
to solve the mystery.
Of the fragility of my existence,
amidst the sounds of stubborn, half-baked truths.
This is, therefore a part of my poem,
dedicated to a failing god.
Renato N. Mascardo, 28 march 2016
lent ends
easter begins
church pews overflow with
occasional faithful alms giving
bribers
renato
sunday 27 march 2016
Satish Verma, 28 march 2016
A silence speaks up at ungreen
age for an unknown, finding
dark matter in hiddenness
of sleazy light.
A dove in the valley of tulips
stops a flight for a wayfarer.
What was that persisists, in envioronment and bunkers?
Queen bee will decide for a spliced
dawn of honeycomb in a bloodless coup.
The stings were the torchbearers.
A smile comes out with a walker. The
vitals were dysfunctioning.
The end does not need any comma.
Satish Verma, 27 march 2016
Question of me,
vanquishing the existence, arises again,
At times life repeats the horror.
Insufficiency of a heart builds an orphanage,
I play the game, then flounder.
Poison is spreading -
the myth of absurdity overtakes,
truth breaks into splinters
Me and my dialogues with life speak of celebration
in vitro. Taking off the camouflage.
The body prints the friction,
but the descent of dark
and other questions remain unreplied.
The soul suffers in a hole.
All the pretty meanings,
become meaningless when time abstracts,
the stone prevails upon the daisies,
sin and desire go for a reward.
The door does not open,
I put aside the beholder
and give a voice to dead tongue.
Renato N. Mascardo, 27 march 2016
the cherry blossoms
are almost out will be here
soon but when will you
renato
saturday 26 march 2016
Satish Verma, 26 march 2016
In the silence of a nameless night, the moon invades
to bring out secret tears,
a perfect sky quivers.
The smell of human flesh flies,
and the spirit swirls down the history,
your hands seize little gods to get the answers.
How long this meditation on self destruction will continue?
Because of ending, decapitated faith loses eloquence.
The myth of eternal happiness slits the eyes.
Your blood drips from myriad capillaries -
And a new proverb commands the winds.
It opens to world like a slashed wound, your ruined life.
What was the mortal question of body to the soul?
Living for the day was very painful,
insistence on past was contradictory,
transparency had no consolation.
Absurdity of fog was there to stay.
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