Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 27 february 2016

Waking Up

In dark I perceive soundless steps 
shifting restlessly 
rustling of clothes. 
gentle tapping on the window 
a shadow floats. 
 
I don’t know if I was moving myself 
trampling sleep. 
Persistent insomnia sometimes creates 
strange images. 
Heart will toss the words in silence 
and I will lit the blue flame in stillness. 
 
That skimpy memory of a half-burned 
corpse in a smoked room 
haunts me. I carry the imprint of 
violence in nerves, throbbing. 
A riot of bright color in bougainvillaea 
will wake me up in the morning.
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 26 february 2016

Listen ………………………..

When you were searching an answer in 
questions, 
the end started near the beginning. 
And you were still walking alone in the 
unbridled tempest. 


Lesser the light, stronger was the urge 
to move in darkness. 
Dirty landscape generated the brilliant stars, 


Legs atrophied, frozen looks, I was watching 
a strange phenomenon. 
The spirit was drinking its own fountain. 
Here is my toast to the march of time 
Kids are refusing to write on dotted 
lines 
already the death was tasting the dust.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 25 february 2016

The Terrain

It was always painful to remember the suicide 
of a painter, 
who was drawing the landscape 
of hunger. 
Polishing his art of pretention. 
The time whistled past his window 
without punctuation. 
 
The terrain was tough, deepened by 
requiem, the tears dried up 
on the cheeks of chastity. 
 
Script without drum and hue 
of glowing eyes, 
cracked lips 
of us and our instruments of tragedy.
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 24 february 2016

The Kiss ……………….

Words were unable to explain 
the darkness of unholy marriage, 
of terror with chrysanthemum. 
And bullet did not know the target 
it flew on command to kill the smell of a man. 
 
My song now hangs like a dirty laundry 
on the wall of peace. 
Death of green eyes, must come in few days. 
The lamps will mourn for the light. 
 
I wonder sometimes, when time comes 
How I will kiss the death 
And how death will embrace me.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 february 2016

Resurrection

There were two shades of truth. 
All the facts were true 
and all the facts were wrong. 
Reality was always drowning in a shapeless pit, 
confusion reigned between two statements, because 
import was nil and walking 
amidst ruins was painful. 
 
Worthless conflicts hover in the night. 
Exchanging the dialogues with death start in vain. 
I go back to my fire and burn my thoughts. 
The world around me is adjourned, 
sine die for the sake of peace. 
I became what I am. 
 
You wait for a whole life to tell the truth, 
and then die for it. 
My god was crazy. 
He did’t ask me for a prayer because he was me, 
and there lies the absolute. 
For umpteen times I felt the need of, 
resurrection from the dead lies.
 


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Joe Breunig

Joe Breunig, 21 february 2016

Poem: An Ease In My Soul

The tangible presence of Jehovah,
is an overwhelming ease in my soul;
the wearisome cares of this World
slough off, reaffirming His control

over all of creation, time and space.
His sense of freedom from hardships,
constraints, embarrassments, pain,
and efforts dissipate as relationship

with Him, overpowers Life’s moments
in quick glimpses of divine intimacy.
The peace of Heaven calms my spirit,
whenever I give myself to Him and see

my identity, that’s found in Christ.
 
 
 
Author notes

Inspired by:
Psa 124:8; John 1:12; Eph 1:5

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.


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Joe Breunig

Joe Breunig, 21 february 2016

Poem: On The Cross of Calvary

You were beaten and bruised,
for the sinful likes of me;
three nails pierced Your flesh,
as You were hung… at Calvary.
 
An unthinkable act of Love
was cruelly executed for me;
for You took the punishment,
that had been… meant for me!
 
With forgiveness on Your breath,
You requested a pardon for those,
who carried out judgment on You,
as a death sentence was imposed.
 
A spear was thrust in Your side,
as Your demise was underscored;
when it was mundanely removed,
both blood and water had poured.
 
[chorus]
On The Cross of Calvary,
Love was brokenhearted;
Salvation was paid in full;
Grace’s flow was started.

[bridge]
We don’t fully understand,
God’s goodness towards us;
Sin’s debt was wiped out,
by the sacrifice of Jesus.

We adore Him, since Christ
had truly loved us first;
He bore the painful brunt
of payment for Sin’s curse.
 

  
Author notes

Inspired by:
1 Pet 2:24; Gal 3:10-14; 1 John 4:19

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.


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Blueskipper

Blueskipper, 20 february 2016

Hello :)

The first time I saw her my heart started pounding
She was waiting by the hall; I stopped breathing
Don't know what to say In my mind I was screaming
Who is this beautiful girl? I must be dreaming

The oppurtunities I try to make to try and talk to you
Asking for a band-aid and waiting at the canteen queue
I tried to speak, but my words outside they flew
Better luck next time boy someday you will break through

Like a sunflower always facing the sun
I sit around lunch waiting for the one
Eating slowly waiting for her to be done
Just glancing at her; oh I've already won

So I finally got her name from someone I know
Better send a friend request right now amigo
Will she accept it? I don't know maybe tomorrow
2 weeks passed by and you finally did; so I typed "Hello :)"  


-C. Tagle


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 february 2016

Psychological Dying

It comes suddenly like a flash, 
in some intimate moment, 
conception of fear. 
Like budgerigars, petrified on the wall, 
the cat below, scratching, jumping. 
I am done. 
Questions of life and death, right & wrong, 
the continuous chatter of psychological dying. 
 
The dust goes into the eyes. 
we start playing the game. 
Melancholic clouds. Cannot look straight. 
Disillusions drips. Depersonification starts, 
On the parched skin. 
Wrinkles dig deep to collect the tears. 
The ending, before it starts. 
 
Arguments are dragging the conscience. 
Hunger and knowledge staring at each other, 
Unabashedly, and dying shadows making a kill. 
Some one stakes a claim, 
on heritage of purity, pulling the strings. 
Freedom to act bleeds the heart.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 february 2016

On The Jagged Stones

Leaving the faint traces, 
of some diluted thoughts 
You empty yourself completely. 
Poverty and shame without an arithmetic, 
is the poetry of life. 
Using the body instead of words. 
Always needing currency, 
to open the doors of clarity. 
 
Naked without skin, 
we survive on crumbs of charity. 
Lending our organs to develop, 
an order of mortality. 
I refuse to taste the bitterness, 
preserve my sanctity, 
go for another version of god, 
thinking, how to think. 
 
For the inward freedom, 
I forsake safety pins, 
walking, bleeding on the jagged stones. 
Pain of realization is deeper, 
than the hurt. 
Cry silently in the veins 
pure resistance will not work now. 
I will try the fiction path.


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