RENATA, 31 october 2020
złączyliśmy nasze nagie ciała
dokładnie jak natura przewidziała
**
on z twarzą wtuloną
w mej szyj
zaczął się we mnie poruszać
tak głęboko z uczuciem
że nie istniało nic
poza wybuchem
Satish Verma, 31 october 2020
The traveler sleeps in a sepulcher,
endlessly, timelessly,
where no ray of light enters.
Like the death has stopped
moving, for a moment
to celebrate the close of the journey.
Indeed? Is it the edge of yearning?
I no longer belong to any one,
to any universe. Come a long way
walking barefoot on hot sands
of life where no footprints exist.
Do not go for my vision. Find
your own path. In yellowish- brown
eroded silica, ripened in sun,
I have left my eyes. The moon
will tell the tale of my Olympian
failures.
Satish Verma, 29 october 2020
A sudden shock,
when a snakeskin starts moving.
Behind the shut doors
a conspiracy was hatched.
Son of the moon-
wriggles on palms. Sneaks
a glance at the diving sun.
Cut and glued, a mourning looks
in the eyes of a Titan.
The anarchy raises its head.
The make-up cannot be
taken off. It will expose
the artless faces.
When eyelids flutter
of a fallen angel, you think
it was an imperial command.
A pause in pain.
You float on ice.
Satish Verma, 28 october 2020
To connect with a reclusive mind,
was an uphill task.
You become-
vunerable again.
Everyday the curtains
come down after the entry of
assassin bugs.
Long-legged, bloodsucking
predators would roam
and abduct the phrases.
The young turks break
the nest, petals strewn, a
rose dies in my hands.
My night journey begins
I let out a poem
to become my lantern.
Satish Verma, 27 october 2020
The great lines, you quote, don't
stir me... you know my vexation,
with the twinkling lights, that don't move.
The colors, don't mix... I move
from death to death, to understand
life, and fail miserably. The body
does not open. Seducers
ready to jump for a bite, to tear
off my columns, my domes.
Yes, I give, give away my precious
heart, time, my infallible attention
to heal you.I don't demand any
dough, remaining in penury, do not
ask for the factors. My arithmetic
has failed. Cannot solve the puzzles
lost in maze of juggleries.
It was your world. I am living
at a binary planet, scarcely habitable.
Yet I am happy in myself
looking at the grains of sand on my
hands. You know, you cannot
write like me... like me.
Satish Verma, 26 october 2020
As I accept the verdict,
the dead-soul beast-
jumps up, draws out the sword
and starts cutting the drift. You shout,
wake up from a nightmare.
The words had betrayed. Vowel
harmony was gone. Voice hoarse, you
stammer, accusing the city, the country
the century.
It was consensual. The suicide pact.
Cloth and body, print and color.
Paper and pen, bed and grave. The
moon had kicked out the feline.
The insomnia, now rules. You
start counting the sins. No stress,
no indecency, sleeping with
dead poems. A big explosion changes the fonts.
You go into long sleep.
Satish Verma, 25 october 2020
Once you are labeled,
The human input is out and
you start falling apart.
My home, and I am trying
to set the walls free after-
the explosion.
A sinkhole eats you alive.
I am walking in air
contending with the old god
who would not listen.
Suddenly it is time to
back drive. The wrong road
taken has given in glimpse
of people starting the war.
The land becomes black
and paper lanterns adorn the doors.
RENATA, 24 october 2020
ŚCIGANA
Chorzy starzy pierdziele
tyle mają do kobiecych
cip
ile dzban wodę nosi
pip pip pip
Twoje zdrowie madame i nienarodzonego
się nie liczy i nic ci do tego
czy jestem kobietą z głową krowy
czy krową z głową kobiety
niestety
konieczność zdecydowała
Wyszła ONA i jak te obok
legendarne amazonki
w bój-ciało moje
i żaden chuj
stary czy młody z przesłanką niezgody
nie będzie moim bogiem
rodzić
chore martwe zagrożone
rodzić
mają niepełnosprawne i zgwałcone
rodzić
bo powstaje średniowiecze
rodzić
wnet zabiorą prąd i telewizję
gwałcić puszczać się bzykać
być w ciąży i na językach
rodzić
płaszczki gady płazy
bo tak chcą ci u władzy
a ja w imię mojego ciała
chcę mieć wybór i będę go miała
Satish Verma, 24 october 2020
I punish myself daily
to deny a god.
Do angels cry?
Pinning hope in a crisis to extract
the truth from a dying moon?
A ghost walks on the
wall to enter the alphabets
of living deads.
Ambrosia- was not
sufficient to resuscitate
a bleeding cross.
I am charting my life
for you to forget me.
Quasi-surrender. No never
I am just learning-
how to meet the death.
Another name of victory.
Satish Verma, 23 october 2020
Cut the masks
and you will find a river of sorrow
in the unblinking eyes.
The mud tears had smeared
the face.
Chimera? The fire breathing
will start a new traction to break
the silent protest of lying lambs.
Impertinence?
For whom you have come to
offer the chador at the shrine?
For whom the houses were burnt down?
For whom the lives of unborn children
were cancelled?
Whose god?
This is not anonymous insurgency.
My name had been written in.
First Informatiom Report.
Poetry
Prose
Photography
Graphics
Video poems
Postcards
Diary
Books
Handmade
