Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 january 2016

Cup Of Darkness

You refuse to grow in a grim challenge. 
Already the witch-hunt has started. 
It was strange to step outside your body 
and don’t look at the death 
on your doorstep. 
Softly flows the dolour in God’s shining eyes. 
 
I have run out my thoughts 
my brain wave. 
shame to be still breathing. 
Starving, I eat the howls 
and drink the limbs. 
Nowhere green inks writes the passion 
A procession of pain 
starts in ecstasy. 
 
Your extinct past has entered my body 
It shakes and brings tremors 
Give me a cup of darkness 
I am going to burn my bridges.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 17 january 2016

Orgy

After an erotic asphyxiation 
on the dirty lips of a game, 
I hear an immaculate rhyme 
like a whore in a prayer. 
 
A hazy patch descends on eyes. 
Night slumbers 
and day ends with a bang. 
 
The guests arrives with a gusto 
dreaming the end of a track. 
Grief stands on a banished spot 
 
My flesh, my soul 
mourns in the background. 
Fear of an organized orgy 
ultimately breaks the heart.


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Florian Konrad

Florian Konrad, 16 january 2016

Więzicielki

,,Nie mogłem się z tym gościem dogadać na żadnej płaszczyźnie"
Maciej Maleńczuk ,,Chlałem, ćpałem i przetrwałem"
 
 
bywać szufladą w najmniejszym pokoju 
okazjonalnie- stołem. meblościanki i komody 
ulepione z gliny. jeszcze przed wypaleniem
(czekaj- już podkładam ogień!)
 
próbuję odtworzyć najwcześniejszy obraz
słońce prześwituje przez zielone zasłony 
płaczę w wózku. ty- nie zostałaś jeszcze wymyślona
 
plan dnia: punkt pierwszy- odsłonić się
upadek na skalniak powoduje lekkie przesunięcie czasowe:
zdięcia legitymacyjne w benzynie, autoportret starego 
brodacza, który myśli że jest chłopcem
 
po drugie- oszaleć. porządnie. symulowanie wzbronione
pod karą wiecznej dorosłości
(barbarzyństwo nie do pomyślenia
 w co bardziej cywilizowanych krajach!)
 
 sekretarzyk puchnie. w kopertach rękopisy powieści 
erotycznych, podania z prośbą o ułaskawienie
życzenia noworoczne do wysłania na Berdyczów
 
przypomnij co jest na końcu listy
 
 


number of comments: 2 | rating: 1 | detail

Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 16 january 2016

Geometrical People

Children of sorrow gnaw into their thumbs. 
Nowhere to go 
nowhere to sleep. 
Something implodes in their ruined minds. 
 
Everyday sun comes with a dream 
in summer, when jasmine blooms. 
This year winter is going to be different. 
A tranquil hand will cover 
the sobs of wailing buds. 
 
Backward goes the illusion quickly. 
Happiness is bargained for excuses. 
Triumphantly the nation moves on! 
 
My blood turns blue in the arteries, Rages 
Guilt is writ large on the face. Cannot breathe. 
The poverty of words weeps in vain. 
 
How long the fear will reign? 
The anger of ephemerility and failed promises 
moves absurdly in geometrical people.
 


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Joe Breunig

Joe Breunig, 15 january 2016

Poem: A Glorious Man?

It just can’t be a coincidence,
that my origin is that of soil;
for it provides both fertility
and the strength for human toil.
 
Buried deep within my spirit is
Your garden, implanted with seeds;
once I’ve been tilled by You, Lord
I’ll meet one of Your Kingdom needs.
 
My life’s labor won’t go unrewarded,
for it’s scented with the perfume
of an authentic, Christian Faith.
Your words in me are a poetic bloom
 
that brings encouragement to others.
Will my humble life be as You planned?
O Lord, will Your expectations be met
with me still becoming… a glorious man?
 
  
 
Author notes
 
Inspired by:
Gen 2:7; 2 Cor 9:10; 2 Thes 1:3;
Col 2:6-7; Jer 17:7-8 and
 
One day when we come to a deeper understanding of The Word
of God, we shall find the term “Man” more palatable than even
the term “Children of God.” For we shall realize that God’s
preordained plan and election is to obtain a glorious man.
-Jacobs Adewale
 
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
 
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 15 january 2016

Dirty Homes

While going my way, searching an eternal flame 
I confront an extraordinary trauma, 
God does not live, but dies in me daily. 


There was green pain in this condemned strangeness 
as the young world moves on 
dancing with joy. 
It was not a coincidence 
that intellectual anesthesia 
was not able to bring good sleep. 


So much passes by your city 
existential traffic, soaring above arguments, 
but a chilled, far away voice 
defends the crumbling palace of syntax. 


The masks are crying from the split walls 
languishing in the hopeless garden. 
Wherever you go, the windows are closed 
and the smoke rings 
rising from the chimneys of dirty homes.
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 14 january 2016

Between Fear And Courage

I visualize you all time, 
my death, 
A beautiful partner of my life 
my redeemed ego! 


Hate was not showing 
its concrete face. 
Love has lost the scent 
and pshyche is leaving the path 
of abstract truth. 


Bruised, I loathe to go 
in this unbridled ordeal. 
Intuition or stupidity? 


A spotless dialogue I dream 
between fear and courage. 
At end, 
life can flow quietly 
amidst the promises 
clasping the peace, at its breast.


number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 13 january 2016

Hope And Banality

Tired of exhibitionism, 
nostalgia for an eternal 
herd of thoughts - 
moves for the real intent 
the intensive thirst for unknown. 
 
The lie stamps the vanity on a pseudo book. 
Everything turns in a rage, 
and pain strips to bone. 
 
Dressed in his gaudy fame, 
great idol lifts the arm. 
Must I become a part of this motley crowd? 
 
The return is difficult 
for the disowned faith. 
Great hips, broad shoulders and pointed nose 
reach nowhere. 
 
Beneath the disillusion lie the shades 
of hope and banality, 
to choose a tomorrow 
which will never arrive.


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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 13 january 2016

Long Beach

On long beach
we swam in the cold water
before walking up to the wreck
of the Kakapo
which were covered with sand
with pieces of rusting iron
sticking out
like a big skeleton
and a round semi-circle at the back.
 
The sand was soft
and white under our feet
with Chapman’s Peak and Noordhoek
towering up above us,
within walking distance.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 12 january 2016

Layered Aches

Strange it looks, 
some one crying on winning a race. 
He was o loser and a victor. 
 
After such a long fight, 
what is left on a banished field? 
broken skulls and roaring laughter, 
Everything was crushed under falling snow 
of ruthlessness. 
 
And over the fire hangs a skeleton 
of past. 
The real truth again hides in the 
Survivor’s eyes. 
There is no witness of any crime. 
 
The court adjournd and the symbolists 
rejoice. 
Justice has come for a sale. 
The highest bidder will get the chair 
now 
Now will begin the layered aches 
in heart.


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