Satish Verma, 23 january 2021
We are going back.
Let it be.
I will never know―
when will you arrive.
In the aloneness,
going blind to the playing
light, you prepare to drink
the darkness of noon.
Becoming dishonest will
not be possible for me.
The times are revengeful,
come back in black to fix the smiles.
Like water hyacinth, the
disquieting worries will grab
you and hound you to the white bones
and turn away.
Where the blood and
nerves went down? It was
no sin to rise and
stand against the sun.
ShareShare Grafting The Lichens
Satish Verma, 22 january 2021
The founder will not find
the copper to cast the history.
It has not begun to hear
the farewell to summer.
Arms were coming out
to end the war, to seal the fractures.
Not my pen, not my tongue
will know the secret deals.
Frontiers are being redrawn,
between the guns and the books.
Renato N. Mascardo, 21 january 2021
january 20
hope in hibernal
unrepose finally stirred
from its nightmareland
of carnage and frenzied rapture
of trumpery waking up
to a new day at noon//
renato
20 january 2021
Satish Verma, 21 january 2021
He wants to revert
back to mutism.
No thyme―
no secrecy.
The half-baked pursuit
of non-violence,
accepting the violence,
on other way round.
The otherness.
You want to identify yourself
with a new religion.
Terror of anonymity?
A night blooming cereus
wanted to avoid the sun.
And love, must you
play desert?
Satish Verma, 20 january 2021
You come to me formless,
to claim your dues―
of whispering poems.
At sharp cliff,
what was your dream―
destiny of taking a long fall?
The rising smoke dissolves
the boundaries, when you
fondle the dark for some pulse.
The final gift arrives
of tears, within reach
of the implosion.
Along the boulevard
a flight of swans―
sails for another lake.
I lift my hand for final salute.
Satish Verma, 19 january 2021
A poem
borrowed from the roses
sits today on my lips.
Crowded with pricks
at night, words move
around the flickering flames.
Thoughts.
They fly like sparrows
encircling the mind.
The sky falls. Import
of faceless assaults thickens. Red
poppies bloom in wheat fields.
White mushrooms,
come up in summer to complain
against the muted surrender of clouds.
Renato N. Mascardo, 19 january 2021
with each little loss
not a portent of total ruin
or a herald of perdition
each minor separation
a note kept in the inbox
too long a reply idling
in the draft box a friendship
going slowly to seed
slow slow
tau proteins accrete
united they stick they
entangle fibrils in the brain
letting go the recollection
of a face perhaps
the remembrance of a smile
slow slow
no need
no urgent need to haste
to bridge the breach so tiny
when you still can hear
the sound of her laugh
savor her humor
marvel at her wit
no need
no urgent need
each day
becomes an inertia
sluggishly entangling grows
a memory peels off
seeds your garden of remembrance
leaving confusion behind
still there is tomorrow
no need to hurry
with each little loss//
renato
monday 18 january 2021 (mlkjr day)
Satish Verma, 18 january 2021
The waves
had brought me to you.
Do not be gentle to time.
Lower the songs
into a mass grave,
as the violence spreads.
This time-travel
will take you to panic attacks.
Blackness moves very fast.
Hypoxia.
Photons will take you
to fading sun.
Glitterati,
now hurts. You cannot
haul the gift of reeds.
Satish Verma, 17 january 2021
I walk towards you-
till it hurts.
In moment of nemesis
I set you free,
and deceive me.
You look beyond me
and become blind for the road.
Life starts drifting away from
each other to discover the meaning
of truth.
We may not meet again,
behind the faulted moon,
groping for light.
You always knew-
I was not you. A miniature
vice- religion apart,
had become a river between us.
I won't swim again.
Buddha smiles with alacrity.
ShareShare In Quiteude
Satish Verma, 16 january 2021
The cat had the feral
look. The home was
burning. Drag of
day to day dying
unceremoniously.
Nowadays the god lives outside
the temple. You don't have patience.
Some zealotry?
A siren song?
I was not in any trinity
of god, man and beast.
On the remote trail you will
find my blood-soaked footprints.
Instead of emptiness
I have filled myself with grief.
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