Satish Verma, 21 october 2019
There was a scream,
a howl. Something, somebody
had scuttled the platter.
You stop and frisk yourself,
and as if the red ants had
started coming out from your
eyes.
It wets the script. An apparition.
A dove flutters in the chest. A
fantasy, like you leave your body.
A window opens, shuts. Opens, shuts.
One vestigial flicker of the miasma
unsettles, the tree culture,
The undersides of the tongue becomes blue.
Do you know, you read
from the back side of the brain?
Have you heard the hindsight?
Yes, sometimes, means no.
Satish Verma, 20 october 2019
To foil the pride of
initiating the blasts;
there was a terror watch―
to share a common link
of violence.
And speak I will, for the
grains, for the grass,
in the endless search
for the peace.
The obsessed autism
illustrates the bipolar.
Light and darkness―
alternating.
A thought poetry, in
quantum physics, makes
a sacrifice. It will
not look back.
Satish Verma, 19 october 2019
The quality drops. You
look at the sky.
A juvenile moon was
following us.
The intention was not very
clear. To shake off the tail,
we went behind the bushes―
to understand ourselves.
The ennui was taking a
big toll. The roots were becoming
robotic. Cannot negotiate an issue.
Seedless, you cannot
impregnate. No thoughts―
no poems.
But then the life has so
many giggles.
You can start reading a murder.
Satish Verma, 18 october 2019
No use, running after the scent
of the hounded animal.
The cat was dead.
You cannot travel beyond the sound.
Your presence was noted―
in a particle only.
In the blurred image of a paper
you may exist, may not.
But I am alone. What was life?
An unheard script handed down
by unseen hand?
Sugar curtains and salt-water:
you cannot stand the acrimony
of the pair standing nonchalanty.
Satish Verma, 16 october 2019
He was slated to become
godless, without engaging―
the nature.
The violence continues
in every joint, after an ego clash
in fractured body.
A blood carnival, between
divine and the beast, paying
the debt of earth.
The decadence. Let it be.
Becoming beautiful
in great decline.
The dice has been thrown.
A chance to meet―
the death after the duel.
Satish Verma, 15 october 2019
Like walking on coal dump
coming of age.
Magnifying the blackness
of a miner's hands.
Excavating a long burrow
to feed the pain.
A muffled cry and you
locate a bound sea.
A clear moon was rising
as a witness to this atrocity.
A classic dance of an
angry god to show the presence.
Satish Verma, 14 october 2019
A quest for negativity
after becoming apolitical.
The moon was marginalized,
when you lighted your―
earthen lamp under the
holy basil.
At night the demons
begin the assaults to
make the milk dirty.
The bluebird descends
in the dream to pick up
the elders for a wreath.
I am not going to cross
the river in flames.
Renato N. Mascardo, 13 october 2019
muscae volitantes
floating
pieces of my
memories just beyond
the pale of the eyesight of my
dim mind
in the
morass of my
past the flotsam of what
I thought I knew flit by out of
my reach
still in
blind hope I wait
unwittingly for thoughts
long gone for wit long lost to me
I wait//
renato
13 october 2019
Satish Verma, 13 october 2019
Ash and smoke.
I am fever, not becoming
any sound.
Like a lichen, a mycorrhiza
on damp soil,
unfound by light.
Thriving in airless
dark. Will not see the cool―
moon of summer night.
There was no key
to find the invisible.
A random poem will see.
Your painted body
in blue scars, still
remembers the fallen roof.
Satish Verma, 12 october 2019
The fresco had started
peeling off. I was―
searching for my ancestors.
The walls had the secrets
buried deep in the bricks―
when they were baked.
Few abandoned poems,
some fakes and counterfeits
and many masks.
A dynasty speaks of
the grieving world without any―
remorse. I do not arrive.
A birthday present for the new
generation, a bronzed
face with glazed eyes looking beyond gravity.
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