Satish Verma, 12 october 2021
Collecting more luggage
while moving on.
The hostages were left behind.
A chilling reminder.
Travel light.
Snow was not going to melt.
Water was rising in the eyes. They look hazy―
the church, the mosque,
the temple.
Violence. It was inside you.
You were walking in sleep
inattentive of mines.
As if you will walk through the fire―
ball unharmed.
Satish Verma, 11 october 2021
A truth a day
was not sufficient.
There were many snakes.
The tree will speak
under the sky.
You will need solitude.
You see what
you want to see.
Eyes don't tell the real.
The silky way
you want to hold
the poems of moon.
Satish Verma, 10 october 2021
What organicity!
Moon was coming down
on me. A visual alacrity,
accepting the surrender.
Journey to dead phrases
begins. Revivalism?
You dig out the extinct remains,
the forbidden Anemone, daughter
of Mars.
Come once, to my side,
to receive my fervor,
making me timeless.
Desires were ace runners.
Mind picks up the cobalt blue
of your eyes.
Now you go blank―
against the cult. The thumb
was set lower than the forefinger.
It will not pull the trigger.
Satish Verma, 9 october 2021
Trap unplugged,
There was a hairy assault,
when you started playing
the sitar of three strings.
Though fearless, you
forget, it was evil, when
you flew towards
the sun, to pay homage.
Your god had failed. I am
counting the winters. No body
was left whole. Piecemeal
you collect the remains of burned outs.
In Bay of Pigs you stand
alone amidst the scars
of invasion. A river upturned,
an ocean dried, there was left no ship.
Satish Verma, 7 october 2021
Asking for privacy, a
green snake becomes deviant,
and turns lunatic.
Lunacy demands innovation―
like atavism, returning
to primitiveness.
The fear becomes
your enemy. Instinct develops
to kill, to slay.
Again a beheading, you
wash your hands
with the blood of a god.
And dedicate your
life to a goddess of bodypiercing
crime, soaring high.
Satish Verma, 5 october 2021
A solemn moon
talking to hills,
plunged in pain of tainted love.
I steer quietly out
of this queasiness, did't want
to accept the risqué.
A spider was climbing
on a wall to weave
a sticky web for a baby face.
Like an aspen leaf
you tremble in even a slight
breeze of a beautiful thought.
The garden lizard
changes the color. Who was responsible
for the ruins of temples
and mosques?
Let me talk to the god, the god
standing at my door
engaging the harvest moon.
Satish Verma, 4 october 2021
Of many gods,
I chose the rock-cut Buddha.
At night we would talk daily.
Like at talkathon―
I will accept his grace,
to follow my inner voice.
I will narrate about the
walking giants, silent birds,
and weeping Ashokas.
In togetherness we had
separated with hate in
aloneness.
The love bites don't
excite anymore. The religion
of sex and―
religion of war have
become one. I will not
recite any adage now.
RENATA, 3 october 2021
Wakacje lato i słońca żar
młodość kipi we krwi
ze wszystkich sił
wypalimy papierosów tysiąc
opalonej paczki kibić
zapałem płonie ognisko
polowania czas i podbój
wakacyjnych list przebojów
w duszy rodzą się dziwne tęsknoty
beztroska wśród morza fal
w imprezowe wieczory kiedy
ten JEDYNY szuka tej JEDYNEJ
szumią trawy i mewy i wino w głowie
cała paczka upojona wolnością
i Ty upatrzyłaś go sobie na wieczność
gwiazd dotyk jak zdobyć
i być zdobytym wino wypite
więc winne jak ocet oczy niewinne
Ambitni pełni zapału i chuci
nie patrząc w przyszłość chcemy
niemoralni być tak bezpruderyjni tak
na przekór mgłom wiatrom i burzom
na przekór głuchym telefonom
na przekór niechcianym ciążom
letnie tęsknoty nas niosą
w jesienne melancholie
Satish Verma, 3 october 2021
Before you eat
your words,
smear the dust of rose―
on your eyes.
The incense will blend
with your vision.
Don't walk like
a thief in the house.
Moon will face the night.
The bell rings
not. Tonight temple
god oversleeps.
Satish Verma, 2 october 2021
I plant my last kiss
on the wall of mausoleum,
and turn back to face the
inevitable transparency.
Like a birthmark―
you stick to me for an eternity.
Honeyed tongue swaps
a blue. I am not a path,
only a candle in the wind.
Moon-washed your face
swims in my black eyes.
I search my genes
in you, for an answer.
In poetic jargon, with
broken wings, I take a flight
to that horizon, where
my aura ends and your spell begins.
Blameless-you spin,
and break into hundred of shards.
They become stars. I remain
stranded at sunset.
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