Satish Verma, 18 june 2021
Reigniting blood moon,
I have come to
seek my abdication.
After a long haul of
dark clouds, I come face to
face with my failures.
My experiments with faith
and disbeliefs did not help
to understand the mysterious self.
Now the significant hurts have
become my strength, accepting
the challenge of changed winds.
I meet you O god―
midway, one day to
settle the scores.
Satish Verma, 17 june 2021
Sperms and legacy.
You scream for the justice
for the space between words
and sentences.
I don't want to be separated
from my half-eaten moon.
Without a dance
your anklets have broken into songs.
Someone commands me―
to sacrifice my pen.
Hallucinatory- be seduced for the sake of fashion.
In anguish I watch
the terror was becoming a religion.
Do you hear the voices
coming from the crypts?
Satish Verma, 16 june 2021
You always said, violence
was in you. Everything was dying
around.
There was a tacit understanding―
enacted,
interceding with―
a lasso. The baked silence
always stares at you.
I have no praise,
no condemnation for anyone.
Inevitably you suck the moon,
your thumb,
your blood.
A poem falls on the ground
to breathe again.
Wiadomsky, 14 june 2021
shards of you
like sticky notes
attached to every
single piece of me
I fold them into
paper airplanes
instead of writing
letters in my head
I'll just wait here
among broken dreams
scattered around
one more eternity
for your never
Satish Verma, 14 june 2021
Unceremoniously―
you blow off the earthen lamp
after the night vigil.
Still stranger
to dark, you start self-destruction
in holy violence.
Was there any life
before death? You encounter
the crucified truth.
Now you wear the blue lake
to meet the moon―
in a forlorn sky.
I let you see
the falling star. It's heat
had savaged me.
Satish Verma, 13 june 2021
Like a lingering doubt,
the moon stood on the maple tree―
for a relationship.
For my sake don't take a
downside, my liberalism
will suffer.
Killed in your own house
by lightning, have you
ever heard of self-immolation?
Let's make it simple.
Take it from the giver,
what he never had― and
don't ask the price.
Your eyes again befell
a giant. How would you live
without the fireflies?
Satish Verma, 12 june 2021
The city was going to
fall. An earthquake?
A flood? No it is war.
Money making and
crime. Two things are
left in my coffer.
Man made had
become better thing than
god made.
Mars sends another
image, of this side―
of the man's earth.
Satish Verma, 11 june 2021
Autumn moon―
in full grace. I have
come out to say hello.
*
Everything was in
order. A stunned silence.
The cuckoo gives a long call.
*
Long ago, such
was the night. I
wrote my first poem.
*
My innocence,
intact― I still feel
my stupidity.
Satish Verma, 10 june 2021
Like half-brother
moon was following me.
Tonight the dethroning commences
on the murderous hills
of faith.
You grab a snowcloud
to refuse what you would be.
The animal that lives
in you has become silvery haired.
There was a terror of being isolated.
Earth was dying in me.
A bloodied machete―
travels across the lands,
riding on the tears, screams
and disembodied peans.
Lifting a sacred book
the hand trembles involuntarily.
Is it the homicide of bright sun?
Et tu, O man?
Satish Verma, 8 june 2021
It was very edifying.
When you shut the mouth of
the oppressed―
the mass grave speaks.
The widow was still mourning,
after the causality of my belief,
my psyche, my rights.
You don't make me, then
how can you break? What
was the height of fall,
will you let me know?
The volatile words are now
losing their import. No
real, only cosmetic display.
Let the celebration of
bold death begin.
Poetry
Prose
Photography
Graphics
Video poems
Postcards
Diary
Books
Handmade
