Satish Verma, 28 july 2022
There was no collateral
damage to my flower vase.
My roses were intact.
I had asked you to wear
a yellow scarf like a ―
hijab of moon. Somebody was
going to meet plain brown end.
The famous leg cross of―
‘Basic Instinct' does not impress me.
I will drink from your oceanic eyes.
Like Sylvia Plath in
death gown, you amble gingerly
to embrace my poems.
The dew drops hang
from the asparagus leaf tips.
I wipe away my tears.
Satish Verma, 27 july 2022
Without narrating
yourself, when and how
will you perform the ritual suicide?
Blindfolded, I
open the destiny of man.
Your thoughts make a hole
in the giant feet.
Who would let me, be dark,
to find the light of truth?
O God, take me to wilderness to embark on my journey back,
or become a tree man.
Let the tree-hugging start again.
Very prudently, I need to color my eyes.
Don't want you to begin crying.
Satish Verma, 26 july 2022
I was not there
when omentum was incinerated.
No unparing was called for
digging your own grave.
In eerie silence, I
start collecting the shells
of forlorn pearls.
It would be a miracle
if I can read the invisible.
I can become a killer when you
are not there.
The mute girl will not―
give her lips.
Only eyes. I must lift my
poem from there.
The Hamlet's dilemma. You
will, will not taste the
hemlock.
Yaro, 25 july 2022
nie ma mnie nade mną niebo
pośród drzew zakręcił się wiatr
dobrze się mam tylko kogoś brak
gdzie jesteś piękny kwiatuszku
wysoko niebo pod nogami z ziemią
zgubiony wśród myśli szukam
płynie strumień kilka pstrągów
woda zimnem przenika stopy
pachnący lipiec ziołami trawami
znikam zapadam się gdzieś obok ciebie
wróć z gołębiami odleć z bocianami
w gnieździe brakuje jedynie nas
pocałunki czułe słowa dreszcze
deszcz moczy marzenia wszystko rozmyte
czytam listy z żółtych kopert
sam nie wiem gdzie będę bez ciebie
zanurzam głowę w małej sadzawce
budzę się nad ranem za oknem latawce
Satish Verma, 25 july 2022
You were afraid of,
unknown, walls pulled down―
you stand in bones.
The surrounding hills―
give a call. Come for the sacrifice
for your transparent limbs.
Unsung, unpraised,
moon will rise tn the woods―
to bring out the victims of rage.
No identification was
needed to wash the bodies.
After death, there was no religion.
Now prayers must begin
to save the weeping earth.
Sky will drop the sun.
Satish Verma, 24 july 2022
I forget,
leaving behind― ambiance
of your arms,
burn the windows―
not to come back.
Preparing for
water burial of moral questions,
where the unnamed pledges sit.
Now theft has taken
place of stakes, meant for black lungs.
Tongue sucks the acid
of hairless assault. You
won't subscribe to buy the oral taste.
From trees, death strikes,
without wings. Tears float
with glory.
Will, not count
the ordinal numbers.
There was a zero to begin with.
Satish Verma, 23 july 2022
The power of the
face of a diamond, sedates
the unknown. You smile.
*
The spoken word had
no relevance. You wanted
the writing on lips.
*
How far you can swim
in the shallow water when
alligator dies?
Satish Verma, 22 july 2022
Deadpan. Far off an
explosion. First a lull, then
rises cicadas shrill.
You release paper―
lamps into the river. One for
black rose in the book.
Blue birds, will they come
again in my lonely patch
of abandoned home?
Missed beats will not
appear to pick up the pause,
between absent words.
Satish Verma, 21 july 2022
For feeding a false tree
of life, beheading
a god was becoming a passion.
Snubbing the checks
and bruises, you
love to be alone in a mad crowd.
As if to be ready
for disintegration, you walk
in pain. Astounded
earth starts shaking.
In unwholeness, the
lamps become dark. The bones
were visible without light.
You want to run
with a comet, away from sun
in coldness of frozen smiles.
Don't drag my shadow.
I am fixed like a legacy.
Satish Verma, 20 july 2022
Under deadly nightshade
we met for the first time,
to watch each other's brilliance―
and rip away.
The scars had become our
moons. We sailed through―
the ocean of grief.
When we gather in dark
there was no choice―
between I am, and you are.
You were afraid to confront―
not accepting what your skin feels
and mind rejects.
The soul searching begins
to become non-conformist,
in green night―
beautiful night.
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