POEWHIT, 30 december 2016
One small glass of water.
The waiter said, "THAT WAS THE ORDER".
The pantry man looked at me.
We have no water, LET IT BE.
What will I tell him, HIS MAJESTY.
OFF WITH MY HEAD ! It seems to me.
Oh your honor, the pantry said, "LET BE".
WHAT !! No water in my kingdom.
How can this fate, NO FREEDOM!!!
But, What, after this - TO SEA.
Find me some water - ON ONE KNEE.
That is your quest - NOW FLEE !!!
Yes your majesty - A CRUSADE IT WILL BE.
For a small glass of water.
Call all in the quarter-YES. Even the porter.
from my poem book DREAMS 2
Satish Verma, 29 december 2016
Wrestling with a theological
puzzle, I would like to talk
about the nature of God. He was sitting
besides me. The man has
become arrogant, he said, I want to quit.
Were you afraid of
becoming a narcissist, while
eating a daffodil?
Convivial.
I was trying to listen to the lunatic’s story.
The other side of the indiscretion. The
corpse comes alive
after resuscitation. The bones in
desert started laughing. There was
a chorus of cricket’s symphony
and hopping toads
became friends with stray dogs.
Satish Verma, 28 december 2016
Spooked by a two headed snake,
a double of a living person squirms.
A moral crisis comes out
of a cage.
The private space is violated
and bloodbath of robins start-
to understand the unrest.
Antimatter will keep the mystery alive.
A distorted truth falls in your lap
like a figurine asking your pardon.
The dogma lies in mess. Chronology
moves forward for future dates.
This is not unusual. A wounded
lion has a sanguinity
of exactitude, lying on
a stretcher.
Satish Verma, 27 december 2016
The rain enters back
into your eyes.
A private door quivers.
A moonless beam
flashes before you.
You start seeing in dark.
Silt settles in headless bodies
of poems.
The shadow of a tree-
opens the seeds of
unknown. The world is shattered
by an unending scream.
The struggle with the decision
was there, you squeeze
me like a prayer.
Renato N. Mascardo, 26 december 2016
sliver
i keep
hearing it the
sliver of an echo
something about your loving me
deeply
it cuts.
renato
monday 26 december 2016
Satish Verma, 26 december 2016
The moral dilemma was
unlearning.
less than truth.
Downgrading the-
branded witch.
Vaccine was spawning new virus.
O Buddha, why did you
started looking beautiful
and began sitting in a living room?
Trailing the smoke
I was going to find the-
burning home.
What were those intimate-
words of unthinkable
dirty secrets?
Satish Verma, 25 december 2016
A night of one thousand moons
and I am dancing
in dark.
Circa.
My half-script was left
with you, under a scrap.
Now I am not
finding any punctuations
in the aerie.
At unknown heights
wake me up in blue depths
when sun does not rise.
Stones placed on hyacinth
will not bury the scent.
I might bring another red spike.
Satish Verma, 24 december 2016
Drunk with pride
the streets are bursting
in self-indulgence.
Who was calling the shots?
Do you know the words
between intermissions, carry a secret-
till the brazen scoop
finds the hidden meaning.
It was grave
very grave truice, unmaking love
between the estranged lovers-
when clouds were seducing the moon.
You don't belong to this
crowd of renegades. Ants
will take away the
divorced dreams.
•
Fissile belly
has started showing signs
of reckoning. A gloom has settled,
gyrating in a sunken garden
for the hung corpses.
Never cruel were the times before
when blind needles were unstitching
the lips of frozen faces. I refuse
to start a prayer
till the grass covers a silent tomb.
Last night it had rained
on the private flesh. It was
full of semen. You do not
belong to this world
of pregnant pause.
Satish Verma, 23 december 2016
In your domain
walking with men of straw
to immolate myself.
If power was sacred
why you did not stop
the reversing of gender role?
Oh, there was water on Mars
streaking like the tears
on your face.
The apes were coming.
There was elation and suspicion.
The vortex of existence needs surgery.
Unlikeness calls for
introspection. I am asking
god to pray for me.
Satish Verma, 22 december 2016
By the moon
I drink you again.
The night is trembling;
ruffles the colossal tears.
The terrible ache of the
illegitimate mercy. I am
not accepting any poem
half-dead under my pen.
The invisible force, bribing
the tears was a grace
uncalled for. I am going to forget
the date of my cessation.
It was a false peace of the womb.
There was no banality
in sending the message.
Death has no other name.
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