Satish Verma, 10 march 2020
Poised to confront
the improvised explosive device
of winds,
good moonday
stands
in melting snow.
Church was
unselling the sex.
RENATA, 9 march 2020
co noc
z głębokiego grobu
wychodzą sny
śpi śpię śni
dziewczynka i potwór
w ciemnym pokoju
pas idzie w ruch
kołowy
pręgi i siniaki
aż do moczenia
pościeli ze strachu
co noc
wilgotność przeraża
przecież ciebie mamo
już nie ma
to ja jestem starą kobietą
co noc
jestem potworem
zabłąkane oczy córki
błagają
a ja wściekłą podnoszę pięść
do utraty tchu i oddechu
wiara w pas wymaga pokuty
nikt mnie nie nauczył
przytulać i kochać
co noc szybkie bicie
serca i razy spadające
słońce kwiaty i huśtawka
córka i matka
w snach
jestem jedną i drugą
czuję
karę
biorę i daję
ból
Satish Verma, 9 march 2020
Between the hope and
betrayal lies the truth-
a terra cotta version
of time.
A vitrified china will
not reflect your face.
You search the word's
tragedy, in a wound's
profile.
A speaking book repeats
the sermon.Do not
go after the questions.There
are no answers.
Prepare for the last rites
of porcelain.Only the plastic mind
knows the reality.
Satish Verma, 8 march 2020
Night comes like a
black dog
around the corner.
I start paying off the debt
cry for cry, with a
ceremonial sword,
cutting off the shadows
falling from the
distant hills.
My questions are burning―
on pyre. How did I fail myself?
Why some mercy
was unacceptable to me?
Standing in midstream
I let go your hand,
and drown in quick sand of thoughts.
Now a poem will
lift me from the ruins.
Satish Verma, 7 march 2020
In cascading
tresses, when moon
got stuck.
I held your face
to see the frightened
fish in eyes.
Seven feet deep,
the snow-
escapes the man's foot.
A terrible fight
still goes on
between temple and mosque.
Satish Verma, 6 march 2020
I will gather you―
through the uproar,
when moon picks up the sneaky path,
from dizzying heights
of hunger.
The poverty of words
hides the bread, ..
You cannot eat an emblem.
The calibration has failed.
Milk contains the
contaminated water.
Everyone has one's own
book, where you write your name
and bear malice for everybody.
Satish Verma, 5 march 2020
To become or not to become a renegade,
or to die or not to die for a semi-god?
These were some of the questions
thrown at an incomplete script.
What elevated you to a celebrity?
Your hump or deep wrinkled groans?
Age is abating, abattoir is empty.
Exile from the past is over.
When you intend to comeback to childhood
and become a simple star?
Behind the mask lies the embrace of death
I am afraid the flames will engulf,
the genius of pathways.
Everything will turn into obsolete gossip.
A patch of sunlight becomes a costly exposure
bones are entwined in eternal cuddle.
Satish Verma, 4 march 2020
A soft, but me,
black moon
coming in bazaar.
Will you sell me the dreams?
Talking to grave silence
before the rains.
I will not plant
marijuana in your eyes.
O, ignorant prince,
my mother had left a legacy.
One should not sleep alone
to become poor.
I expect no applaud,
no cheers. I am a passer-bye
I have not killed
myself.
Satish Verma, 3 march 2020
You drape me, with wet kisses
O moon.
I will not forget you
in freezing rain.
At dangerous arch,
blue-veined―
milk in milk has made me red.
The ecstasy digs out
the hidden lyric,
I would never sing.
Will you find any
questions, to defeat the―
intimacy of a rape?
A hurt here, a bruise
there, my faded shirt
covers the poems.
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