Satish Verma, 12 march 2023
Snow and Sparks. Methane
burns. I will scramble for the
moon in dark woods.
The desires leave
the scars in dreams. I walk in
sleep to touch you.
Where the world was
going? You dismember the
frog's limbs. No rapes.
Satish Verma, 11 march 2023
Like sphinx I put up
before you, three questions.
What was in a name?
A bane? Deceptive
image of a sin? Don't
give me everblooms.
You give brief
answers. I should know them. I
am setting you free.
Satish Verma, 10 march 2023
A secret poem for
you, to forget myself lost on the
noiseless sea.
Of words. Reclining
Buddha in dilemma, to
wake, not to wake.
I was on voyage
to find the bliss of salt
in starvation.
Renato N. Mascardo, 8 march 2023
being my friend at 3am
i can’t
even imagine
please let me try what you
feel right now in this darkest hour
before
the break
of dawn being
so alone so short of
breath half reclined in bed so so
tired but
too tired
to sleep instead
my wheezes keep time with
the wall clock that keeps vigil as
best as
it can
conducting this
cacophony of pain
within and without rising and
falling
my tongue
nails skin eyeballs
nude scalp bowels all clamoring
to be
heard by
an audience
captive and one trying
to sort out and plan what still lies
ahead
too much
to learn way too
many steps that can be
taken detours to hurdle when
will all
this end
initials like
notes chirping around me
her2+ adc dfs pfs
leave me
alone
quiet my heart
the war proceeds recedes
the siege continues but i’m far from
alone
but in
this deep lagoon
of ennui in this the
coal black hour of the night please let
me live
an hour
or two of quiet
desperation so that i can
savor all the more another
new day//
renato
wednesday 8 march 2023
Satish Verma, 7 march 2023
How do I carry the
moon, wherever I go to search
you between the clouds.
Gradually, thoughts
become homeless. Can't catch
the wheezing flies.
Blaming self, the trunk
dies inside. No sap will
rise. No glue will roll.
Satish Verma, 6 march 2023
I want you to call
me, when my shirt was stainless
and sun was rising.
The monarch lands on
my book to read the verse―
meant for the moon.
The empty mind spins.
Script was totally burnt-out in
my voicelessness.
Satish Verma, 5 march 2023
The first stitch
of the poem. Painless words.
There was no song.
The lull before the
blast. Buddha bends to pick up
the tangerines.
Deep orange-red
sun rises to name the sin.
There was no saint.
Satish Verma, 4 march 2023
Love blooms in hush,
like cranberry. It heals soul,
half moon, half stings.
Gives you wisdom
to singe without flames
in month October.
Woe was done for,
when the snow comes in
to cover the scars.
Satish Verma, 3 march 2023
At dusk, I will smear
your lips to color the moons.
Acts like Midas touch.
The dunes tend to
shift from the shivering hands,
when the knuckles bend.
The scope expands.
You will walk on periphery.
I will tow the line.
Renato N. Mascardo, 2 march 2023
occasional sputniks
fellow
traveler each
one of us was is and will
be from birth to our last gasp
whether
we choose
to or not the
elisions we build merge
and consume parts of us with
pleasure
and pain
companions in
hurt and healing love and
hate being around even when
ignored
off and
on together
we have become casual
sputniks yet we persist or at
least
one of
us who reaches out
to keep the sputnik flame
burning til our discrete journeys
dissolve//
renato
wednesday 1 mar 2023
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