Satish Verma, 27 march 2018
Unable to conceive.
The theme had not arrived─
near the mouth.
It was agonizingly close,
Before and after the storm.
A dharma had failed.
Law of the land:
first a sprint,
then a strained voice.
You lend your voice to
a surrogate throat.
The audience roared.
Star by star, you walk
in dust. The search goes to
find the unknown, who takes
a big stride and leaves
gaint foot-prints
in dark.
Paweł Szkołut, 26 march 2018
For K.W.
On Palm Sunday
the exhibition of Canova’s sculptures in the Czartoryski museum -
eternal beauty enchanted in those marble figures
of amorphians, gods, nymphs and heroes
in the Collegium Maius cloisters
plus ratio quam vis
the spirit of students and professors from days gone
among which we strolled
to stop for a while
to take some pictures or drink some tea
talking about the biblical prophecies
astrology and the mysterious beginnings of the world
in the distance Jesus drove down on a donkey from the Mount of Olives
while the crowds with hosanna on their lips sent his way with the mantles
when He suddenly stopped to weep over Jerusalem and its fate
later in the restaurant in Kazimierz next to the cemetery
we listened to the Hebrew songs
trying to understand some words
there hung a prewar wedding dress
- we thought about what comes from the heart of God
and penetrates the Universum
and we wanted to believe in it
on Palm Sunday
the immortal beauty met eternal ahava
and David's star on the old green stove
was shining like never before.
III 2008
Satish Verma, 26 march 2018
The system aborts.
(Multiple organs failure)
A deviant art
of dying pompously.
I wish, I was on a ─
moving floor, sailing
without a walk, looking at
the camouflaged ceiling.
The shrill voice of a whistle─
blower, mimics an opera.
I will snatch the words,
raw, from your lips.
It was here, in absence.
Your poesy, matter-of-factly.
Can you raise your voice
against the fall of the thing.
Satish Verma, 25 march 2018
A cameo─
after the chemo.
Are you sure, it was a tumor.
*
A black hole
in my bones, gulping
all the pain.
*
You were buried
alive in the wall of patches.
Stitch by stich.
Satish Verma, 24 march 2018
The ultimate, unsung─
spreads out
and sails to oblivion.
I wanted to become
you, in desperation,
clinging to a swan song.
The great wall─
of silence, built on sand
still stands in hurricane.
Questions mate─
behind the curtain.
The truth, stands naked on stage.
Nothing to declare
now, I collect the pebbles
of childhood, hidden
from your eyes.
Locking the door behind,
I walk out to liberation.
Satish Verma, 23 march 2018
It insults the─
primitivism. Hypothermia, you
become cold-blooded.
*
Fractured limbs.
How will you climb the
mound of questions?
*
Gray night.
Between black and white
the ashen moon.
Satish Verma, 22 march 2018
The numbers were going up
and hallowed men were no─
more saints.
You find that your shirt
was stained. Now
you talk
to strangers. fear creeps─
under the skin.
You come near each other in─
dark. Reverting yourself
Against the wall of water as
high as your ego. Epidural abscess─
a silence of unknown.
Now, every hour you die. Light
abducts the dreams. Nothing to-
talk about the blitzkrieg.
Satish Verma, 21 march 2018
Hauling up
the debris of your life
in failing light.
*
Bending like grass.
Standing like a solid rock─
where did you reach?
*
The fatal night─
to remove the downy velvet
from your sharp antlers.
George Krokos, 20 march 2018
It’s the little things in life that count the most
and the big ones those of which we can boast.
____________________________________________
George Krokos, 20 march 2018
Silence or definite action is the right answer when words are of no avail;
let the language of the heart speak with love when all else seems to fail.
If you have a point to make and it appears to fall only on deaf ears
try setting a good example first and allay all your immediate fears.
______________________________________
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