Prachi Agrawal, 28 august 2012
It was 3am in the morning
She woke up at the sound of shout
Again her parents were fighting
She was just five years old to understand this.
Tears were rushing through her brown eyes
Her parents had no time to see this
Her heart was buried under the ground
She was so used to this horrified sound.
Her father turned and walked away
Daughter and mother in silent dismay
Careless father lost her careful daughter
He got drunk and never returned.
That little girl has now turned sixteen
But she couldn’t forget that heart aching scene
She hates her father for what he did
He only ran away from responsibility.
From then she hates every guy
Who comes her way
She’s afraid to take any chance
Her trust had been broken once.
Satish Verma, 28 august 2012
A misbelief
breaks into rags.
Still I dream of some gods
on black pages
piecing together the words
of light. The rains come
in the cage of tears,
voicelessly.
Striated muscles of splintered faith
go to cramps birthing
the avatar
without a mother.
I will pick up now
nothingness
from the bounty of silence,
of a stunning question.
Satish Verma
patty turner, 27 august 2012
On that summer night.
The stars were above us,
The night was cool.
Running around in the summer night...
Bad things can happen on cool nights,
People cry on those cool nights.
That bright stars above us are the people,
That bad things happen to them those stars.
Are the people we losted are the summer stars.
Those stars will soon fade away...
Satish Verma, 27 august 2012
Watching the externalism
I was playing a squid in deep waters
to save the raging sears of life.
Was it a soft intellect to believe
in goodness, when rains had ceased to come
and seeds were covered with mildew?
The farming of words
had overlooked the fires.
The smoldering was inside the anthem.
This fall I will not see the colors.
Sun had eloped with the moon
and leaves had curled like a promise.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 26 august 2012
A name breaks on the tip
of a pen.
Like a wildflower after a
violet end.
The yellow stripes will
enter the past,
retracing the path
of failures.
I pick up a broken thread
to weave a shade of blue flag
to open under the weight
of a guilt.
A cluster of doorknobs.
I retrieve my future
to lock the death
in erotica.
Satish Verma
Goldie Lopez, 25 august 2012
I sit on the bathroom floor,
waiting.
My veins call for you...
craving!
Blood pulses through vessels,
inhaling air I breathe steadily.
A calling, a thirst, which is called hell to me.
Too hot to touch,
too hot to touch... what a rush!
With a needle I place liquid on a blacken spoon...
from a drug I always prefer to use;
this is my abuse.
Where the fire stains the metal...
marking the surface scorching hot to the very touch.
Small bottles fall upon the ground below.
The syringe absorbs the juice I feed...
a tight cloak wraps my arm, forcing it bleed,
cutting circulation to pop out a vein.
This kind of addiction can drive a man insane!
Begging for my desire, such a hunger of delight
Soars I can't hide, these wounds won't heal,
dangerous kind of appetite.
I don't care who sees me...
Why should I hide?
I don't care what they say:
this drug is taking me higher than any person can dare,
I've slept in alleyways, lying on the wet cold concrete bare.
People walk on, and all they do is stare.
Treating me like garbage, though I really don't care.
I've snuck into purses,
stealing everything in sight.
I have a habit, I need that fix...
this is my heaven and hell mixed.
I can't get any higher from this point where I stand.
But this isn't what I call heaven,
When I don't care who I harm, or what I am!
Not giving a damn about the memories I sell...
this addiction is my hell.
No sexual encounter can give me,
freedom from this wild escapade.
But herion can offer a grantee, without delay.
Though this agreement is so unfair...
I signed my name on the dotted line,
with blood from a vein I just used.
These demons help me abuse;
having me hunger for a taste of something...
that damages and amuse.
Watching me wasting away from what I consumed.
Here's a drug addict's confession,
twisted is a love; imprisoned I stay,
doomed this passion...
for it's to late to turn away.
Hell is my redemption...
for it's thirst I crave!!
Satish Verma, 25 august 2012
That targeted sleep will not come
at once
in the tamed night.
A shifted pain
lifts the irretrievable word
shamed at edge.
The godwings
weave the rhyme of flight
for the wedding of death.
You are born again
in sleep
for another journey.
Satish Verma
Glenn McCrary, 24 august 2012
Callous sentences saunter into the quaintest of landmarks
Capturing the cinematography that is the mockery of felicity
At times I ponder on whether its veins quake with fear
In lieu of the eyes marring her with bullet holes
Whilst humming commemorative memories
That now lie lifeless just as the wealth of their youth
Glenn McCrary, 24 august 2012
The fearful varmint that claws at your callous origin
Caused a ceaseless chain of nightmares
A simple faux pas contrives a generation of idiocy
The toes of a screaming infant dwindling in our wake
Loyalty had not yet bared a face of existence
Atonement was never a question but a riddle
Heed your forthcoming capers
For they just may deface you
Glenn McCrary, 24 august 2012
Oblivious to arcane mishaps
That molest the bones established by society
The echo of her tattoo sings of a great depression
Each time the memory surfaces,
A twisted grin is born
Perhaps this could be the preluding window to existential purgatory
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