Satish Verma, 24 february 2015
Let it remain
ovarian pure. After strangulating
the truth,
for hypoxic euphoria.
Flies in your face
the dirt,
the denial, the terracota
of superposition of speech
hiding self-interest.
Blackened crozier
for wrinkeled crotch
drops the ashes of love
on unopened buds.
Weeping willow sways
in warm winds of prayers.
Strawberry in holes
nothing like bruise.
Satish Verma, 23 february 2015
Stammering quarrel
with classical fluidity,
fails to measure the uncertainty.
I was finding my rocks,
that chunk of certainty
in midstream,
when you were not sailing with me.
The wait,
stirs high the separated pain.
Boat capsizes on high sea,
churning the eyes.
Suspense was killing
behind the veil.
Half-belief
half-truth
sustained the spirit, kept
possibility at bay.
Satish Verma, 22 february 2015
For you
I am walking on rocks
holding unburnt match sticks,
you want me to throw them
behind me.
To step down in lake
for washing sins
from the snuffed out
skylights.
Between green and blue I climb on leaves.
Remained pygmies
till end,
in frail human relationships.
All that we saw, was only for ourselves
in questions and replies.
Wasting shine of titles,
followed by empty looks.
Nothing remained to be said.
Food was left on the plate
untouched.
Satish Verma, 21 february 2015
This kitsch
makes you hollow,
kleptomaniac.
You become blind in green
ready to make a dumb leap
from tall cliff.
Contempt for climactic throats.
The man walks on water
to meet death in icebox.
Pink torch like royal command signals,
black white moon enters a sober cloud
beyond the vibrations.
Now was the chance to kill
the light, fixing the graves.
One day the laughter was alive.
Satish Verma, 20 february 2015
Your window
was very small.
Why did not you throw the dice?
Walk away
without a want?
I had no courage
to tell the lies,
to hold the secrets
of brave tears,
which failed to live in red-bricked house.
And a naked womb
protecting the fetus
from scars and curtains,
will find a anointed bed to sleep for eternity,
for delivering, a new star.
An anode will discharge
on a galactic light,
a message of the hungry
birds of prey.
Death wants its share of flesh.
Joe Breunig, 19 february 2015
God’s compassion is directed outwardly,
while self-pity is an ugly form of idolatry.
Abject misery will be guaranteed, when…
you’re centered on the selfish ego of “me”!
If you’re focused on your own misfortunes,
then you’re going to miss out on blessings;
concepts of personal happiness are fleeting;
therefore, realize what makes hearts sing
with an everlasting, unadulterated joy!
Ministering to others creates opportunities
for spiritual harvests in the lives of others,
but it requires a humbled spirit to see
the hand of God at work within His Kingdom.
Unresolved issues -anger, offense, and strife-
open empty doors to major disappointments
and insure the consequence of an unhappy life.
Being too tired and not resting enough ensures
that you’ll observe your daily lack of abundance;
enjoy quiet time for prayer and self-reflection,
to gain proper eyesight for your circumstance!
Author Notes
Inspired by:
Gal 5:13-26
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
Satish Verma, 19 february 2015
Eggs went freezing in the sap.
Lips of moon were hot.
In the flare up, the
rebel had cast doubt
on cartridge.
Missiles were unique
but, hands trembled -
concept of sky was a lie.
Saturn and moon were coming closer.
Two way mirror of sun
was watching.
The fallen leaves on grass
refuse to be blown away.
They were waiting for the fruits.
Once in a blue lake
you had cheated the boat,
you may not be lucky this time.
Satish Verma, 18 february 2015
Roses had gone wilting
after surgery.
Biovision
of acrylic lenses
was projecting a corrupt green mount.
The rubber king had a papery laugh.
How you deal with a maverick –
matter – of – factly?
Pall bearers of a tall legend
were carrying nitroglycerine sticks
unfazed.
Saboteurs of moon night were scheming.
I was sick of pretentions.
Brown and black scars
become a honeycomb
hiding the agenda.
Stigmatized devotion gets back at you
after still birth of truth.
I will wait sine die for the verdict
of hope.
Satish Verma, 17 february 2015
To catch himself
he jumped into fishpond
becoming opaque
between silk and lethal crotch.
Milk of silence started flowing
from earth’s breast.
His name was a flower
who was a blind witness
of the love-
for a moon
which plunged into a lake without a bottom.
Pain is spilled since then
on the charred lips.
Marigold–
waits for the sun
to rise only once.
All the empty hands
carry one eye
of the seeds,
to sprout in jungle of smiles.
Satish Verma, 16 february 2015
Give me,
some poison to live
I had been dead
for many years.
I burn my hands on a flame,
blank space has started talking.
I am ill at ease –
My lips are not moving.
The pellets, the bullets, the steel –
nothing matters now.
Dirty games can go on,
I am going on bromides
to ejaculate the pain.
Sleep will not come in dark
nor the relief in white robes.
I will remain awake till eternity.
Give me,
some thorns to bleed.
Rose petals
are hurting now.
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