Satish Verma, 11 june 2016
Recalling memories was difficult.
I presume, today was not my day.
Theme uprooted, I stood for the branches,
the spirit, the truth, the roots.
Do I see more than what was needed?
Only eyes to eyes speak without words, sound,
vision or reality.
All the flowers have shed their petals. Now
seeds are shining. I feel liberated. The
faultline has defiled me. Bilingual insult.
Time leaves the questions in air, suspended.
You have to find the answers, yourself, in the
debris of arguments.
Bell’s palsy. Face, lips distorted, lids drooping,
speech slurred, you clog
the brain with help of anti-depressants,
how many endings you have seen?
I have not lit my dark cell,
moonlight, mauls the window,
jostles to enter
hurts in my face!
Satish Verma, 10 june 2016
Come, become my mirror to read the backward. Script
wards have failed me.
The sea is turbulent
and I am laying flowers at your feet.
What was is your eyes
unfathomable like a da Vinci?
Hold my trembling hands
I am going to dropp the gems.
Nobody will agree with me
there was a face on the wall.
Bare as the night moon of October
I have undone my beliefs.
A loincloth was sufficient to hide the birth.
Ceremony has begun to knead the lies.
Use your death as the furnace of life
where knives are sharpened to start the healing.
A stranger has come as the guest of the house
answers should not insult any question.
Renato N. Mascardo, 10 june 2016
new day
with each new day i
meet you my dear old friend i
fall in love again//
renato
thursday 09 june 2016
Satish Verma, 9 june 2016
Thinking was seeing through the time,
was a lone journey from naïve
understanding. Return was difficult,
back to bricks and forlorn shores.
How many beginnings had failed;
the doors locked, cobwebs, dust, smoke,
crowded with dangling hopes. Flywheels
broken. DNA twisted, life – in – heaps.
The purpose, warts and all, salvation,
as long as footnotes guided between
restless nights. Melancholy of space in
the bed. Silence of portraits.
A peacock explodes, defining the boundary,
then a chorus of approval. An owl hoots.
The candle kisses the creases of dark.
Moon swells.
Satish Verma, 8 june 2016
Multiple tongues followed
some strangers to see the
trafficking of images between space
and promises. Somewhere
adjectives were being cheated.
A tumor was growing in brain
locked, enhancing, malignant:
condemned destiny. Implicity of incest
in same gene pool. Where
the evolution has stopped?
A missile has intercepted and smashed
the moon into ten thousand
sins. Palpable wreckage.
We were shoved into dustbin
A pile of starving skulls.
Clotted stone blood. Mountains
were wounded. My mentor
had a paranoia. Delusion
Of falling snow
from burning sky.
Satish Verma, 7 june 2016
Entire age was spent in search
of self ultimate and he was still
unable to redeem a sad tree.
The silent unglorious drop. Florets falling
one by one like dreams.
White spread. Orange opus. Good-
bye crescent. Blue sky shying away.
A cuckoo on mango grove starts
a melodious croon. Sweet allegation
of betrayal, but for what gain?
Pain bounces back in the eyes of
a sparrow. Cannot find a window to
enter. Concrete walls. Closed doors.
Ad infinitum will move the traffic.
Where to stop? And when to fly?
Qualities were crashing down. Faint
bruises on face. Sticking plaster on
eyes. So many already gone to galaxy.
Sitting on a garbage dump.
He was brooding silently.
Satish Verma, 6 june 2016
The metastatic figure.
He was seeking truth without thought,
being in and out, he was sleepwalking in
dream. I am the absolute, he said. Skeletons
are popping up everywhere. Poor beasts.
And there was the tired flame who
burned all night in vain.
The body was aching after the discovery
of a super terrain. Another earth? or
a conventional aberration? The planet
was heaving with hot clouds. Reason
for a substitute. Right perception of
life was difficult. Everybody was running
in opposite direction for a message.
He dives to pull up the corpse of liberty
locked deep in water. A noble idea to
free the corrupt world from the bondage
of decaying foundations. Half-truths and
half-lies must live together for the human
survival. Quest of the self ultimately
begs for forgiveness.
Satish Verma, 5 june 2016
A catheter leaks,
quality of hearing suffers.
A tethered song sears on blue flames.
The actual, displaces the pain
truth becomes non-pigmented.
In space you move noisily
waking the birds.
Tomorrow will come with writhing cries-
bounties of past.
Not myself, himself, yourself.
The new experiments in womb
remained fruitless.
A malformed, distorted progeny was born
on payments without glory.
Masses were swelling without self knowing.
Thinker was silent. Philosopher was dumb.
Architect had the thumbs amputated.
A mausoleum of love remained unbuilt.
Sky was overcast, hid the sun.
The earth inherited the broken glass.
Joe Breunig, 5 june 2016
It’s important to remember that Death,
has been conquered by Christ’s victory;
though our mortal flesh is perishable,
our spirits will rise and we will see
Him in His exalted radiance, as The Son.
Like Him, we too will be raised in glory;
we will be completely reconciled unto God,
with Christ having no sense of animosity
towards us, regarding His experiences
as our propitiation on Calvary’s Cross.
After all, He submitted to The Father’s
plan, for redeeming the World’s lost.
Out of dust, the first Adam was raised;
from Heaven, came last Adam: The Christ;
the first brought upon us sin and Death,
while the latter… bestowed eternal Life.
Author notes
Inspired by:
1 Cor 15:42-54
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Satish Verma, 4 june 2016
What it was? Unthinkable:
he had become inaudible
to himself.
Intramurality in defiance?
or falling from perfectibility?
The terrible stench;
and toxic fumes rising from decaying passions.
The flesh middle age, blocked arteries
fear of schizophrenia?
Scion of royalty clapping for wheels,
shine and color
hanging by a thread of hate.
This was life without a hero.
Pacers-by caring for posters only
Whisking the sounds away.
Many in the one
nostalgia of shapes.
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