Satish Verma, 12 october 2020
When I make a heap
of all my killer pains,
rains come.
A half-moon casts
a spell. Hope used to
have many colors.
A black magic
ruffles the feathers, casually.
Peacock forgets to dance.
Rocks. Like rare earths.
Difficult to separate you
from me. The call of the mountain
rattles me again. Will
that continue, unending
path, towards non-existence?
In the dark greens, it
was a murder, I cannot find
the blue moon.
Satish Verma, 11 october 2020
It was a breech birth,
scuttling the forecast,
under water search.
Sad night.
The sand fills your
pockets. You start
licking the salt
jettisoned by violent waves.
Don't focus your mind.
D-Day is drawing near.
No deference to sun.
Unfurl all the sails and ride the breakers.
RENATA, 10 october 2020
Świat jest wielkim Titanicem
dryfującym na fali
a my tacy mali
niedoskonali
jak cząsteczki puzzli
niezbyt poukładani
chcemy się bawić
Świat jest ogromnym tonącym
Titanicem a my bez skrzydeł
chcemy latać bez sił podawać
siebie na talerzu w biegu
całować drugiego i uśmiech słać dowoli
bez powodu tulić
aż serce narcyza boli
Świat jest chorym Titanicem
rdzewieje dusi się pęcznieje
a my chcemy oddychać
dotykać wąchać pląsać
żyć i śmierci zaprzeczyć
Karen Adams, 9 october 2020
Tam na łące
przy biedronce
pada deszcz
Nawet w ciszy
na ulicy
słychać śmiech
W ciemnym lesie
ścieżka pnie się
mnóstwo drzew
Tam się schronię
by posłuchać
wilczy zew
Bo przyroda
zdrowia doda
ptaków śpiew
There in the meadow
next to the ladybug
it's raining
Even in silence
on the street
you hear laughter
In the dark forest
the path climbs
lots of trees
I'll take refuge there
to listen
wolf out
Because nature
health will add
singing birds
Satish Verma, 9 october 2020
It was a mixed affair
of love and hate.
You are in deep water
to engage in a dialogue.
Almost farce was the
black ice. Animalism was the-
same. It was murder
in one form or the other.
The landscape would be
remembered for illicit violence.
The virgin sea hides the remains
of midair collision.
The purple men talk of
casualities in war times. The
relocation of peace march was
a big mistake. The vultures-
refuse to move from the trees.
Satish Verma, 7 october 2020
Becoming,
antinormal was not a-
big task, like discovering a new mineral.
It was upside down
a binary star.
Mother and son of morning.
From your absence,
I pick up a poem
and milk the words.
Unlike the purple poesy,
you write,
when the pith becomes the spirit.
The houses set apart
have no boundary layers.
We were immersed in our
strange thoughts.
Satish Verma, 6 october 2020
To skim the sky
like swifts,
when you move away
from yourself.
Holding a four-leaf clover,
night drapes the moon,
taking a lion's share of light
on its wings.
Your full lips defeat
the kisses of incense. I
will come again to
learn Ars poetica.
The fake blooms. I will
never see the death
of a rose petal, skipping
the barbs.
Satish Verma, 5 october 2020
Knowing the beginning
and the end,
you stand in water.
Transparency should
come first, waiting
for your time.
A blind pursuit for a brilliant moment,
to break the black rock.
The bloodstained eyes
tell the opacity of eternal lies.
Can you melt the darkness?
The holy edge was inviting.
You want to settle
for a suicide, after the hymns.
O golden peaks
I don't want to climb the illusion.
Sun was sitting in my room.
A bluebird was
staring at me. When do I
start laughing?
Satish Verma, 4 october 2020
Hot fish
becomes topiarist.
I want to remove the scales.
Once for all.
The lesser island
holds the boat. You
become ready to rove
in dark.
Hot fish
scrambles at dawn.
Do not open the eyes.
It will go straight.
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