Mustapha Maaroufi, 10 august 2024
That beautiful shirt hanging
Above the face of the wall
Has the right to rebuke his collar
If it seizes the opportunity of the night
And goes too far in elegance
To the point of obvious exaggeration.
Satish Verma, 10 august 2024
I was extremely
hurt. Your taped lips won't kiss.
I will die hundred moons.
Can you give me
freedom from the pink rocks
of salt and snow.
I think, I should not
drop your name at the edge
of my trembling poems.
I walk in sleep
to listen to your surrender
before the bald eagle.
You were always in
hurry to shut the book
of life without reading it.
Mustapha Maaroufi, 9 august 2024
And I said:
"For which sky do my suns travel
And convince the sea in my palms to be level?
Is there a sheikh in the tribe
of noble character
Who will exempt my mirrors from the whims of horses?"
Today I should scoop the mud
Under the old shadows
I have come to desire to be a neighbor of the lakes
To throw on the edge of the water a fertile project
To open one day in the face of our visions
Its high windows,
If one day I returned to the sea I will bless it
And sew a shirt of the beginning in his hands
Extend its waves with the dignified screams
To become later able to be
As it is
And not afraid if It wear bright shells on a holiday day...
_____
The cat ran secretly
To the public street
Saw a bus swaying
In arrogance
And saw a tower that continued to descend
And a woman who revealed herself
While he _ the cat _ began to doubt
About the extent of his ability to meow properly.
Satish Verma, 9 august 2024
It was to happen
from known to unknown,
sibylline hands held the head.
This was my first
love to catch the tears of moon.
Honey drips. From where bees come?
After I gained you in light,
I lost you again in deep dark.
Birth of venus was rehearsed.
Why did you paint
your name on forehead to
attract the dying desire?
The poetry decides the
fate of falling star on the hey,
before you burn your port.
Satish Verma, 8 august 2024
It was yesterday's
sin. The poem like a lovely
face starts a monologue.
In infinite dark
you come like a prayer,
I shiver like a temple.
Nobody wants me
to depart, under the stars
like a genetic gain.
The moon was on.
Light was dim, I was still
grieving not to touch you.
My apology for
saying goodbye. Breath to
breath I gave you my life.
Satish Verma, 7 august 2024
You will change one
day, in rattling bones, trying
to make yourself whole.
Living in heart only
for transient love. Was it possible
to become immortal in poems?
One day I will meet
you outside the moon. Where
our embraces have gone?
A street car stumbles
on rocks of broken windows.
Now I cannot see your face.
What was left in
our hands. I read daily your
lines. They cry every night.
Satish Verma, 6 august 2024
Sometimes I will not
tell you. You had shown me light.
Do not go in storm.
Let me unlock the
known. Knowing too much
was curse of unknown.
What you want to
say was a predicament. The
problem of non-loving hurts.
Can you exist with
my humility? I will touch
your eyes colour.
The time of sorrow and
sorrow of time are not same.
Do not break the silence.
Satish Verma, 5 august 2024
Let me reach the
zero point, where I didn't
want to go.
The hymn to saddened
goddess, will always belong to
sender of black roses.
I will ask a question
after seeing you. Were you
ready to receive a non-killer?
The coming of my
rival was a blue shame.
I did not touch your lips.
The sun wakes up
and the dew shines again
on your flickering lids.
Satish Verma, 3 august 2024
When you disturb
me, I feel as if you
have arrived.
You become yourself
like the serene water
of a blue lake.
Passion of a poem
has a splendid effect.
The street going nowhere cries.
Tonight I will ruffle
your hairs to hide the
moon face of a rising star.
What sparks a prayer,
when I think of losing you.
Organic tears give way.
Satish Verma, 2 august 2024
An ocean floods
your eyes. Flares the wound
of words. There was no friend.
Across the borders,
nameless horses run to win
the race. There were no masters.
Let it go. The time,
I forget myself and start
searching the other self.
Will you walk
with me in snow? To locate
the buried hand of the butcher?
Tonight I will
become a priest to write
on the walls of love flame.
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