Satish Verma, 5 june 2017
Do not remember the names.
Somebody is waiting in the wings.
It is very dark here. The drums
will break the mother’s heart.
The death will not accept the
dew on the grass. She wants tears;
The Buddha is taking a turn
in his sleep. Why is he so restless?
O, my father, I am watching the
fields turning into piles of ash.
Cannot shut the eyes for a jiffy.
Will you write something for the god?
Satish Verma, 4 june 2017
That fleeting incandescence
was branded witch
in grotto of a cloud.
For the first time I saw
your face in water.
You said this is manic
depression talking to flowers
and seeing a bizarre
apparition in dark blue sky.
What was the thing called
arrival? Every moment
a truth dies before
your eyes.
Between laughter and tears
I touch your eyes. Is that real?
And your brown ankles
walking on white snow.
I am soliciting a bloodstained
floor for a dance.
Satish Verma, 3 june 2017
Why did your hand
become the fist?
You were thinking about the indignities
heaped upon the lake,
when you were retrieving a song
of freedom from the depth of questions.
There was no capitulation.
You went on opening the congealed-
blobs of blood to know
the keynote of violence.
The sectarian hate.
It outlives the love of brotherhood.
You want to go back to, from where
the jungle starts. It had swept
away the snow-white young
peaks.
Footprints of some movement.
Can you see that?
Satish Verma, 2 june 2017
Walking with death
talking poetica.
Living without walls
and firing squad.
While new culture was
drowning on steps of
dots and bass voices.
The blood on hands.
Sometimes you are going
nowhere in a pathless
city. Back to back setting
ablaze bazaar of black gods.
Between the veils lies
the trauma of man. I
step out from the underside of
hymns. Cannot sleep in temple.
Satish Verma, 1 june 2017
There was soft
purring. Inviting but malicious,
when you entered the cave.
A bittersweet encounter.
Quantified. A new dna print
after a cyber attack.
Another turn of the Venus.
The whole world
has never been the same.
Anatomy of violence
was shaping the
future bêtes noires.
Stupid thing, our roots
still commingled with dust
searching the stone-deaf god.
Satish Verma, 31 may 2017
In the valley of death
one more guest arrives.
By my sleep, there is a soul search.
Take off the lid from silence.
Unlach the door.
The wounded sun was coming.
Be my grief to wash the eyes.
Unclench my fist.
I want to write the name of fallen god.
Inhale the sulphur and
draw the moon.
Night was coming to take revenge.
An obituary will glorify
the asylum.
An alien will enter the skin.
Morgan, 31 may 2017
Stress, Stress, who are you, what are you?
a lot of people seem to know you.
Stress, Stress, I hear your name alot,
but I can't recall your face
I can't recall your voice, Stress,
and you're completely odorless.
Stress, Stress, what are you, Stress?
Are you a god? Are you a goddess
with symbols and familiars?
Are you a cloud? A jellyfish?
Like God, you are known by your works, I guess.
Like God, you get so much bad press.
Everyone blames you for this, Stress.
Everyone blames you for that.
They say they can feel your breath on their necks--
that where they step, you step
like a shadow assassin. And, they're scared, yes.
Do you do it, Stress? Confess.
Can you cause piles? Can you cause shingles?
Can you make people late?
Can you cause PMS?
People say yes.
You could never get a fair trial, Stress,
not in this state.
Can you cause flat feet
or the grippe to linger?
Can you cause hair lip
Can you cause cancer?
People say yes but where's the proof?
No matter how quickly they twist
they can never see your face
for you are like a mist.
Stress, you are like a heat
Maybe you don't even exist.
Stress, I'll tell you this:
I think you have a libel case.
You are never seen at the scene of the crime--
mug shot, fingerprint, jammering witness
oddly inavailable. Stress,
I think you got blamed, I think you got framed--
I believe in your innocence, Stress.
So tell them to just bust off.
Satish Verma, 30 may 2017
A cutaneous drip.
The young moon drinks the dew
unbuttoning a rose.
A fierce wind rubs
against the golden triangle
to invite a violet sting.
Eyes armed with green thumbs
go for a swim in rage.
The lake unloosens a blood moon.
No inscense will rise
from the tomb of a lover,
unless he dies with a style.
Crossing the gray lines,
I will not take your lips;
paralyzing the silver tongs.
Satish Verma, 29 may 2017
He was no longer angry
writing his own epitaph.
Fighting a singular brute
without repeating himself.
Midnight. Untouchable moon
drops the ear-ring.
A mottled face worships
a ladder expressionlessly.
A monk walks past an
oversexed monkey.
A hidden agenda in end,
shows a dirty hand.
You know, I do not want
to tame an exploding -
navel. Transfixed I throw
the bottle in a sea.
One more parakeet dies
in my hands. How do I catch
a flying saucer in the
alien body.?
Joe Breunig, 29 may 2017
For us, Faith is applying
His Truth and trusting in
Christ. So trust Him and
Faith grows with His Truth.
Knowing His Word, can show
us… what can occur. Without
Christ, nothing can carry
us through… to Salvation.
Can anything stop us? Will
Man stop on his own? Why do
folks worry on a daily basis?
Can or should individuals
do what is right continually?
Milking our situation for pity
is a sad way to push forward.
Will Christ light our way, if
Faith is always lacking? Why
should God assist us? Christ
is motivating us to go towards
Him; without spiritual aims,
nothing significant may occur.
Author notes
Inspired by:
Matt 6:33; 1 John 2:15; 2 Tim 3:16
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2017, All rights reserved.
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