Tim Kitchen, 12 october 2017
As Alice arrives at the Hospital door
a couple smile and say hello.
The girl who is heavy with child
asks which way they should go.
Alice leans over to reach him
to kiss him for one last goodbye.
A silent tear rolls down her face
as with sadness she begins to cry.
They’d been together a very long time
thinking they had more years to come.
But illness came and frailty ensued
now their life together is done.
After some time by his bed, she left
and on hearing a noise she smiled.
Coming from a nearby maternity suite
it was the cry of a new born child.
She sees the same couple as before
next morning when collecting his things.
And smiles, as she sees their baby boy
as one life ends, and a new one begins.
Tim Kitchen, 12 october 2017
My faith was never a beacon of light
more of a flickering candle at night.
My Father’s beliefs were always strong
perhaps somehow I got it all wrong.
In spite of those hymns I love to sing
for me it’s more a borderline thing.
But I see things in a different way
I don’t spend time praying each day.
For me God’s love is practical too
shared with others in the things we do.
Through help we give to those in need
whoever they are, whatever their creed.
A man lies bleeding in the dark of night
prayer won’t save him and make him alright.
A helping hand will, so that’s what I’ll do
and he may feel God’s love there too.
Maybe I’m right or maybe I’m wrong
but this is how me and faith get along.
Tim Kitchen, 12 october 2017
Children playing in the evening sun
running around, just having fun.
Dogs chasing balls happy to play
rolling in the grass late in the day.
A couple sitting on the ground
trying not to make a sound.
Where so much happened, long ago
on the field where wild flowers grow.
This was a place long before
where men shed blood in a war.
A place of such horror and pain
where men fought and men were slain.
Living in trenches with blood stained pools
with weapons of war, their only tools.
It’s hard to imagine, long ago
on the field where wild flowers grow.
Fledgling birds are trying to fly
into the bright evening sky.
Someone there is trying to pray
children think it’s a place for play.
But you can still clearly see
where the trenches used to be.
Life is so different, than long ago
on the field where wild flowers grow.
An old man stands on his own
he seems content to be alone.
With tears rolling down his face
haunted by memories of this place.
He was here when he was young
cold and scared carrying his gun.
When life was harsh, long ago
on the field where wild flowers grow.
Satish Verma, 12 october 2017
A shirtless detachment,
will speak
for the dead,
attaining peace!
*
Knowing oneself,
I was told,
was a very ardent
effort. I don’t know.
*
Disconcerted,
I float the words, on
lake. One day they
will reach you without rhyme.
Satish Verma, 10 october 2017
A relative lie,
becomes the truth.
Will you meet me, on the
cobbled street, where the gospels
are cowering in terror;
to find the style.
Becoming; to be a void. As if
I was not there. Unpetaled,
the ovary will ask
the bees to land immediately
on open mouths.
From the veiled moon,
comes a stifled cry.
Do not collect the peaches.
Satish Verma, 9 october 2017
Beyond dreams,
a wise lake, watching my absurdity,
of playing with the tyranny
of absolute. And I am trying
to remember, who had said,
that the core victim was me;
in simile,
to a drowning boat.
I remained,
a small seed, still
waiting till eternity to find a
thread of light, which should reach
the depth of the dust, the stone
the water, awakening me to
send my radical, going down,
down into the evasive words.
Satish Verma, 8 october 2017
It was your
integrity
at the time of ubiquitous pain
of separation, you want to move the home
away from home
coming
to terms with the trauma
your shadow was not following you
playing dead
nuzzling the earth, racing to fill
the void, entering the truthlessness
this world
of violence, of mayhem, of self-betrayal,
the flags are not able to cover the nudity
Satish Verma, 7 october 2017
Again,
a hunt will start,
incognito.
Uncorfirming
a freak. A zipless encounter
without a knife.
I am not going
to lose a blue peacock.
Light will not come.
Into the dark recess
I had planted
a time bomb
in the womb.
Give me a blight,
if you want.
Yet I am going
to sail, combing
the moon.
Satish Verma, 6 october 2017
It was your
integrity
at the time of ubiquitous pain
of separation, you want to move the home
away from home
coming
to terms with the trauma
your shadow was not following you
playing dead
nuzzling the earth, racing to fill
the void, entering the truthlessness
this world
of violence, of mayhem, of self-betrayal,
the flags are not able to cover the nudity
Satish Verma, 5 october 2017
Like a jellyfish,
In raw pain
You descend abruptly,
In abyss of peace.
There was a streak
Of animal in silicone.
The matchmakers will
Rub the sparks.
The cauldron was
Simmering with tension.
Was ready to engage
A chemical warfare.
You are sitting on
A medusoid robot.
A replica of non-god’s
Creation.
Now synchronized contractions
Will start to deliver a new baby.
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