Satish Verma, 30 december 2014
Last night
moon was following me
discreetly,
skirting behind the trees.
A white splendor
drips,
like a dropped coin
on poor’s hand.
Did you see the blood
on roses?
The petals were wounded
in rain.
Casual violence
spreads in the streets.
I write a very hurt
poem.
Satish Verma, 29 december 2014
Night was descending
on the tonsured heads,
terracotta robes,
clasping the palms, hiding the seeds
of earth.
Against a ban on lips
for belonging truly.
Blissful. The squids settle in the weeds
of overbrimming sea of arms.
Blood was red, brown and pale.
oozing from the slit eyes,
soaking the green voices, herbs and sad kisses.
In the death, your name will be engraved on your shoes.
The steps were small
but shadows were very long on the ice.
The stings unflawed, did their job.
Suddenly you go
in anaphylactic shock.
Renato N. Mascardo, 28 december 2014
affair
at the start titillation was what we shared
in the end drudgery was all we felt
and in the midst we missed the meaning
of the experience we now call an affair
beyond the pale of the experience we built
pointed palisades and deep furrows between us two
but time dulls the sharpened stakes of ire
and shallows the deep-mined furrows of hurt
until we come to accept that absent of
a relationship we can still choose to relate//
renato
saturday 27 december 2014
Satish Verma, 28 december 2014
One day you will arrive.
Night will enter in your pores,
in your bones,
like a baby trapped in a borewell,
crying, striking,
thumping.
On each table, salt moaned
for a classical taste.
A pink moon was smothered
in a virgin bed.
Death walked in a sensual style.
A black discharge continued
from the areolae.
Botox failed to uplift
the sagging breasts.
A thallium capsule broke on tongue.
There was no suicide note.
Karen Adams, 27 december 2014
Jesteś jak mgła
Oplatasz mnie dookoła
Jesteś jak wiatr
Owiewasz mnie dookoła
Jesteś jak cień
Zawsze ze mną
Gdy ciebie nie ma
Czuję ze mi brakuje powierza do oddychania
Czuje że brakuje mi słów, by to wyrazić
Czuję że więcej cierpię
Milczę
Tracę radość bycia
Życie przestaje być piękne, urocze , kochane
Bez ciebie brakuje mi miłości
Bo człowiek tylko z drugim człowiekiem może być w pełni szczęśliwy.
You are like a fog
You wrap me around me
You're like the wind
You're blowing me around
You are like a shadow
Always with me
When you're gone
I feel that I lack the air to breathe
I feel like I have no words to express it
I feel like I'm suffering more
I am silent
I'm losing the joy of being
Life ceases to be beautiful, lovely, and loved
Without you, I miss love
Because a person can only be fully happy with another person.
Karen Adams, 27 december 2014
Jesteś pięknym motylem.
Jestem jak filiżanka z porcelany
Delikatna
Możesz mnie stłuc bezpowrotnie
I więcej się ze mnie nie napijesz
Jestem jak motyl
Gdy za mocno mnie chwycisz
Połamiesz mi skrzydła
I przestanę wzlatać
Jestem jak kwiat
By zakwitnąć
Potrzebuję słońca i wody
Aby zapuścić korzenie.
You are a beautiful butterfly.
I'm like a porcelain cup
Soft
You can break me irretrievably
And you won't drink any more from me
I am like a butterfly
When you hold me too tight
You'll break my wings
And I will stop flying
I am like a flower
To bloom
I need sun and water
To take root.
Satish Verma, 27 december 2014
Trapped in your body
a city starts
screaming.
The master has broken off
a huge iceberg.
An Antarctica is burning
like hermitage
from the spark of a red robe.
Lips are riddled
with lies.
No face is left
to smile.
Ruthless with the words
and meanings,
they have manipulated the winds.
The puppets
have come to stop
in complete silence.
Satish Verma, 26 december 2014
Fear of a mound,
tumbling down
on the half-buried, half dead
archives of desires, comes
like a stampede of hoops on my chest.
I lie alone in a desert of insanity.
From the sea of agony
one dropp of salted tear,
the title of a wasted life, brings
the blood stained truth.
I want to wash my eyes again.
To watch the autumn leaves falling
on impeccable stones
for forgiveness.
We were not the fruits.
A song of blind water
enters the earth
to kiss the roots,
foo giving liberation from
sun leaked night.
Satish Verma, 25 december 2014
Not asking, was most difficult, from
the magma, to send a hot spring. It was
a classical translation of the pain in winter
of human spell, in a temple festival.
The space widens between us, between
our thighs and absences, while studing
the red roof of the landscape, where blood
had dripped from the cherry blossoms.
I say to mother earth, where the border
begins between your breasts and foeticide.
Warriors were becoming monks or priests
were learning the art to kill.
This road is not going anywhere.
The interval between matter and time
links to movement of grief. The ahead
is tomorrow under siege. Sun is refusing
to melt the snow on mountains.
Renato N. Mascardo, 25 december 2014
in penduluming back
like autumn
leaves in free fall
the years have pirouetted down and
away/ the hegira was mainly mine to keep
the hurt colleted and at bay/
after all these years
i find
in penduluming
back that you still
are steadfast and true/ it was
i who have changed in the exodus of
my heart/ the hurt is gone
i am thankful you
are not//
renato
wednesday 24 december 2014
Poetry
Prose
Photography
Graphics
Video poems
Postcards
Diary
Books
Handmade
