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.
Satish Verma, 6 june 2021
Brutal. Another lover
too. Four-letter words kill.
A self deception begins.
You shut up in yourself.
From meaningless trivia you
want to extract peace.
The leather was becoming feminist.
You can eat your partner
if conflict increases.
Will you like to read Camus
again? Especially- The Myth of Sisyphus?
The humming birds are
disappearing. No trumpet shaped flowers.
Half-naked in beachdress―
a truth was swept away.
Satish Verma, 5 june 2021
I don't want any applause.
Think. think on
what I have to say.
The morgue is full. Still
the bodies were arriving, of
all the dead innocents.
The son, daughter, mother and
father and grands.
What rituals you want to do―
to honour the departed, or
praise the killers?
The rigged notes on paper speak of mendacity.
Between the primates, man
was becoming the beast.
The stone, sculptor and ghost are one.
Satish Verma, 4 june 2021
The dusk panics.
Molten ash stings, bearing
you down. Your enemy had penetrated
very deep.
Your pride shrinks.
Infinite pains from moonlit streets
climb up the palm trees
to count the dead.
You can not arbitrate in disputes
of wind and flags.
The night rolls down on the
battered past. Your face becomes
a broken clock.
Color-blind, you will never―
know the green recital
of the spokesman.
Poetry
Prose
Photography
Graphics
Video poems
Postcards
Diary
Books
Handmade
