Satish Verma, 22 november 2021
Your face becomes
an eye, a saga of
holding the assaults.
A body hails
the sagacity.
A child becomes a man
away from home
of truths, god forbids.
The innocence gives
rise to a mound of bones.
Death lingers to
take revenge.
Brutality breeds
brutality. Can anyone
break this cycle by giving
one's life after receiving the award?
Satish Verma, 21 november 2021
It was a direct hit,
meeting an immaculate
moon tonight.
Was it possible― that
a star flew off the sky
to undo something?
I was the mist,
and I was the sun.
Describing the accident―
not the truth.
The molester.
Time, steps out taking a big
chunk of life.
Unhinged, a messiah
drops dead―
at the door of equity.
How vain, was the
ego of man!
Satish Verma, 20 november 2021
Talking to Morpheus
when moon was asleep.
I was not guilty of
waking you up.
In splinters, the man
goes deaf and dumb.
A violin was thrown
on the track to stop the music.
Death becomes a finger,
points at you.
The rodes become blind.
There was no D-Day for exit.
Satish Verma, 19 november 2021
A blighted ovum
demands a ransom for life.
Unhinged, you rub with―
the command and
set free a poem.
Some very visceral fears
hold your hand and
ask to write an epitaph
of yourself.
Unboiling the egg in
irreverent manner, you
proceed to make death,
out of eternal entangled questions.
The sheer stress unmakes
you into a creator
and you begin to spawn
a new religion of violence.
RENATA, 18 november 2021
dotyk dłoni ust i języka
nikt tak nie kocha jak on
nikt tak nie dotyka
noce bezsenne gdy splot ciał
grzeszny kac wśród pościeli
fal magnetyzm szyję całują usta
i niżej niżej wolno taktownie
i kwiatów bukiet na odchodne
ich kolce wchodzą w dłonie
wino jest jak narkotyk aż po świt
wtulona w pustą poduszkę po tobie
bo Ty właśnie przy żonie niby
nie kochasz jej lecz nie potrafisz
odejść opowiadasz tak niesamowite
historie ale nigdy nie powiesz kocham Cię
serce mi płacze chcę Cię rzucić skasować
Ty uparcie wracasz głodny mej gładkiej skóry
łabędziej smukłej szyi ja brudna i potępiona
w ciąży jest twoja żona żółkną słowa więdną myśli
diabeł rozpustnik namalował wizje taka żądza ciała
jeśli znów o zmierzchu będziesz miał ochotę
tego wczoraj już nie będzie scenariusz napisało życie
dziś ja pod sercem noszę cząsteczkę zawiłości
bez ciebie już słucham porywających za serce muz
bez ciebie już
Satish Verma, 18 november 2021
Will I know you―
by unknowing myself in bleak―
moments of giving
wings to you?
Raising your legacy; losing
my words, I block
a masterstroke. Something
was wrong. I was walking alone.
Disrobing a covered
statue, the anguish of
incorrectness hangs.
Enduring a song of―
drums, calling the sun from clouds
for a wounded earth.
What was truth
in jungle of beasts? Any
humming left on the lips of trees?
Satish Verma, 17 november 2021
An earthy scent
rises, when―
you rain in me.
The hole in
heart. Naked
as salt of eyes.
My roving boat
sinks near
the banks of ashes.
Pure and white
like snow
you fall on my lips.
Satish Verma, 16 november 2021
It is.
What you don't think,
and don't want to share. Nothing.
Kamikaze― divine wind
destroying your crotch.
Saffron― dried stigmas.
The hiss of a dead shake,
kitchen's flavor for celibates.
Many roads to reach
the mannequins. God is
one. Hydra's tentacles catch
the believers.
Unwholesome.
I won't taste the violence
of celestial bamboos.
Satish Verma, 15 november 2021
Break your silence.
Stay for me.
Face-to-face, after
my first inning,
prey for me.
To know the whole truth
I will change the
ecosystem.
The fake reals,
would become the change,
you never wanted to see.
Smitten by your verses
I was in distress. The
sexless army of thoughts
stand in snaky queues―
beating the big gods.
A nickel for your
eyes. Why they have become
fathomless?
Satish Verma, 14 november 2021
That mad truth.
The unborn was knifed
long back. Now you throw―
the net in the crowd.
I had found you
after the centuries of conflict―
in small eyes, looking
for the stolen myths.
I want to hold your
face one day and bury it
in my tears. It should not have
happened in the jungle
of jinxed plays.
The unmarked tree. I
had picked up the fallen fruit
to taste you. Would you
find me in dark?
Poetry
Prose
Photography
Graphics
Video poems
Postcards
Diary
Books
Handmade
