Satish Verma, 30 june 2021
You tie a
sacred thread to
the hollow tree.
That walks around
in search of
a morose Buddha.
The world
has gone beyond
the suffering.
A square, a
circle, a dot?
Who are you?
Satish Verma, 26 june 2021
You collapsed―
on the stairs in frenzy
falling into a debt trap.
The moon was asking back his pain.
This was a naked aggression.
Kitchen was not ready for roots
and flowers and footprints
of staggering price of being alive.
Riding in a Humvee, the
rhetoric fails. The lies become
spiteful. Your arms holding
a wavering testament.
Religion of sending
a young legate of death, to veiled
untouchables, to spread
the glitter of bones and red meat.
A gift of asking to become
blind, nothing less.
Satish Verma, 25 june 2021
You never forget
the fat preemie.
A perfect revenge of the curse―
at ungiving.
Streaking in
snow, when it
was frighteningly dark.
The moon-bathed
body of the thumb king
running without feet.
How would you―
climb, the black hills
of desire in tragic land
of skulls?
The living god was to
become a marbled statue.
Satish Verma, 24 june 2021
You never forget
the fat preemie.
A perfect revenge of the curse―
at ungiving.
Streaking in
snow, when it
was frighteningly dark.
The moon-bathed
body of the thumb king
running without feet.
How would you―
climb, the black hills
of desire in tragic land
of skulls?
The living god was to
become a marbled statue.
Satish Verma, 23 june 2021
You were not choosing
the right words, being reticent
for a seasoned yes.
The hurts of intimate
symphonies― don't bleed.
Only scars were left in triangles.
The chilled morality
of summer stream, was eating
away the banks of amnesties.
It was a sublime touch
of unseen fingers moving into
the trees and sky of dark spaces.
Days were slipping
away. I cannot put my
memories on flame.
There were explosions
on the crossroads.
Satish Verma, 22 june 2021
Would you bear the cost
of peace, if there was
no war, no country, no
personal gods?
We are not talking about―
a retropain of recent past.
It was there when we―
started walking, and
discovered a superhuman being.
The crowd swells every day, and
a new religion crops up
every now and then.
There was no fatal crash.
It makes you rich overnight.
The money grows―
from the barrel of the gun.
I refuse to celebrate the victory.
Satish Verma, 21 june 2021
Your algorithm
has failed.
There were colossal mistakes.
It brings back
the memories of
counting on the fingers.
A moon, a river
and a night, had
fallen in love for ever.
Why not a langur
should now be
declared a person?
Satish Verma, 20 june 2021
You shut to it―
the window, on watching
a row of walking stones
without feet.
Pouting,
scowling―
in a mile of tears.
(A pink lotus spills
the colors on water)
Let me talk
to my wilderness. The
script was incomplete
in shadows of greyhounds.
You crawl on the grass to find a four-leaf clover.
Satish Verma, 19 june 2021
My logic
was not a part of belief.
The answer you proffered is
not, what it was
supposed to be.
The question sits like a
butterfly on my chest.
It was a sham exercise
to wipe out the dirt from the eyes.
Life, death and the
unknowing are the failures
of man.
I am ready to repatriate
my end from the noose, for
not accepting the award.
Renato N. Mascardo, 18 june 2021
the leavings of a past
the maw
of this monster
remained wide open was
ready to gulp down the morsels
of my
recall
a chipped coffee
stained mug a squeaky chair
an old vcr that almost
always
worked a
half full or half
empty jar of royal
blue quink ink that my thirsty pens
would miss
among
the debris and
treasures that ended down
the gullet of the thirty yard
beast as
brandon
the young dumpster
handler pushed the rear gate
shut with a clang draped its top with
a net
trapping
all inside for their
final journey to the
the gehenna of things in the
belly
of the metal
behemoth leaving me
with my memories behind and
forlorn//
renato
friday 18 june 2021
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