Satish Verma, 27 july 2015
The pain of the night,
flows in the blood.
I move in the sun, hot & bruised.
From palace to hut,
clock moves backward in time.
The children of love are
going nowhere.
Space in space,
flame in flame
void fills the entire darkness.
The mutation was incomplete.
Unpetaled, roses are scattered.
The fruits of
impeccable perception went awry.
Helix now uncoils giving pain.
Futile strength wavers and the apex burns.
A glint throws the outlines in tizzy.
Sharp stings spread the venom.
A breathless anguish,
conjectures a dream of death.
Satish Verma, 26 july 2015
Everybody was in hurry to unpack
the sins and reshuffle the names
of burns, by taking a holy dip
in mauve lake. I wanted to defang them.
Acid attack had the inversion effect
on the expressions.
It was an obscene vision
unrolling the infant
for bleeding an opponent. The procession
moved on. Details never came out.
Only the flaming bodies, loud thuds
and the screaming virgins.
This was unlucky for the hutments,
fragile poles crumbled down, unspeakable
emptiness on the faces. Something has
to be unlearnt. Too much pain of
the knowledge. Ectopic pregnancy?
Satish Verma, 25 july 2015
Skylit my bright atrium,
pumps the future.
Which becomes the today
righting the wrongs.
I want to go back
to my ancient furrows,
hibernate and sleep.
Let the life bloom on dead words.
In vitro a tiny face smiles.
Pink petalled
a crooked moon goes up in the sky.
Tangled thoughts resume
the search perceiving
the depth of the subway.
The waves splash on the rocks madly.
Celebrating my defeat,
I burn my books.
Cannot follow any path.
Lonely I trace
my truth in sands.
Wind communicates the disaster.
Still my hands
break the branches,
snap the thorns, bleeding.
Satish Verma, 24 july 2015
In the culture of self, and wilting idol
who was going to interpret the truth?
To resolve the inner conflicts
of an ailing mind?
I tell no one my validity,
my loss, and my sudden realization,
of a dying aura.
Give me a poem, a childhood, a dream
I wanted to live,
without maligning a mirror.
Without a cold-blooded
murder of truths.
Life was becoming a waiting in blackness for an
audience with god.
A thought sits whole life
on a ruined model of a truth,
trying to get freedom from the
celebrated events of greed and hate.
Windows are not supporting the light.
Time for the greens
to make a decision.
Joe Breunig, 23 july 2015
O Lord, stretch my spirit and soul,
for I can handle the pain of growth;
teach me the proper words to speak;
I’m ready and gladly take the oath
of serving You with my humbled life.
The value of relationships require
patience and wisdom to be employed;
while knowing You, I have inquired
about my identity, found in You.
Having the gift of a poetic voice,
I teach others spiritual lessons;
my spirit climbs, soars and rejoices
when new connections to Your Truth
are realized by Jehovah’s children.
We need each other to fully mature;
hearing testimonies of overcoming sin
and bad situations, we learn more
at accelerated rates- ordained by You.
With my experience and understanding,
let me help others with breakthroughs.
When the latest opportunities arrive,
please enlarge… my capacity for Love!
Author Notes
Inspired by:
Isa 54:2; Luke 5; Eph 3:14-21
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
mvvenkataraman, 22 july 2015
Pray and try to hope
Then you can cope
Believe that you can
Be a courageous man
Try and do the best
Please be ever honest
Love and never expect
The loved to be perfect
Act today to do a thing
While doing, gladly sing
Always exercise sagacity
That will create a beauty
If possible do the job
But, never foolishly sob
You must try to win
Crying is a real sin
Attempt with confidence
Employ divine prudence
Never feel you can't
Let no loss try to daunt
You can surely achieve
A fine plan, you can weave
Life-path will be smooth
If your hope is mammoth
Don't grudge and be sad
Always budge and be glad
If peace of mind, you need
Always do a noble deed
If equanimity you love
Pray to the Lord above
If you are to all a friend
His hand, God will lend
Good-luck for you dear
Live this life with cheer
Make this Earth a Heaven
While living, have true fun
If mercy is your motto
And you have no ego
Mirth is to you assured
Life can be endured.
mvvenkataraman
Satish Verma, 22 july 2015
What do I do with the words?
They hurt, they flourish without thoughts,
destroying the civilities.
The sky cannot hold the conflict.
The strange friction
of the image blurs the colors.
Love has become a cauldron.
A tough question
tries to penetrate in my skin.
I come out of my body,
peeling off the conflicts
from the timeless silence.
The voices of doom hang on the trees.
Somewhere the tears
turn into watermark.
Not afraid of afterlife
I am ready
from death to death.
Another autumn
will take away all my greens,
water & grace.
But primordial smile
has a history of matching a face,
with the dead.
Satish Verma, 21 july 2015
A stand-off between grass and moon
marginalized the perfume of night.
I was standing to read the graffiti
written by light and shade.
The planted kiss, the embrace, the trembling
legs have bricked in the trapped saint.
Where were the stars leading you
for the journey to the end of the bruises?
Some coarse absence of winged thoughts
had continued presence. It was blankness
without emotion, without movement. Can
you think without the past, without the future?
Step-by-step the malice, the lie within
the lie unfolds. Gives a deliberate shock
of self knowledge. I count the bonfires on
the hills. Coming up to unfog the sky.
Satish Verma, 20 july 2015
Confessional truth
is not my aggressive ego,
it is my fault.
The resolution of my conflicts with time,
the smell of the broken limbs,
my head in hoisted fever,
my eyes searching for a cloud.
The ultimate otherness,
of an idea baffles me.
Charity creates the misery,
you seek a window,
not the sky.
Looking for the gods,
enjoying the sweet depression,
of a pseudo-hurt.
I wanted the sanctity of a tree,
full of fragrant bloom.
To break the spell of hot arguments,
the fire of ideals,
projects self worship.
Town meets casually to select
a hybrid of man,
and a beast.
Satish Verma, 18 july 2015
The wheels find,
the track on my body,
why do I shiver & tremble?
The night gives me the depth,
a grim reminder of realism.
The consortium of thorns,
the splinters float in my eyes.
The dignified seizure,
takes hold of your body
your mind writhes,
under the surface.
You hold head in agony.
Waking is more painful.
Is it worth that?
The biography celebrates,
the death of a god.
The negative virtue and,
upright truth clash,
in midst of worst weather.
The red tongue gives,
the hot sermons.
Fatigue of wasted years,
weigh heavily on my arms.
Poetry
Prose
Photography
Graphics
Video poems
Postcards
Diary
Books
Handmade
