Satish Verma, 20 september 2021
The moon at the window
tonight, was like a dreamcatcher.
I am going to sleep in your charm.
Image builders were
becoming scarce. In your tempest
I will find my dustbath.
Amidst the sailing
swans, becoming a semi-recluse,
you wanted to write poetry.
Why don't you go back
to your home, O fairy?
Did I clip your wings?
Not for sale.How
far it was? My liberation
from the shadow of the lips?
Ashened, a fakir wanted
to give away his precious jewel
to an unknown star.
Satish Verma, 19 september 2021
Tribal instinct spares none.
You change the script,
and come out to see the murmuration
of a flock of starlings.
The precision, the blend
make you wonder about the harmony
of small birds in unison,
an army moves as one body.
O man, your mathematics
has gone absurd. The sects and
cults. The zealot, the devout.
Brother, I will say unleafing must start.
More poems?
That does not work.
All the daffodils go blind.
Thousands of years go―
in making a vision.
Satish Verma, 18 september 2021
Why ending your life,
on death bar,
close to terror―
of life? This is how
your dreams come true―
to play with inevitable ?
You had nothing to bleed.
One million times you
kiss on the lips of wounds.
We're all insane, chasing
the muse in dark. Earth
weeps in turn.
The walls are coming
up. What does the time tell
about the age of many tombs?
Satish Verma, 16 september 2021
A sacred lotus emerges
from the navel, while you rest
on trembling waves. I am shedding
my leaves.
The knotty hole. Center
of the earth. A shell
breaks inaudibly in the churning pot.
The pledged promise was
deep. Pole's red aurorae stream
in new birth.
Was it necessary to take
an oath under the bo tree―
to become a sacred Buddha?
It sucks. Fake or genuine?
I am searching the faces of whites,
browns and blacks. Who
wants to be buried in a nameless
grave of a soldier?
Satish Verma, 14 september 2021
This was the rise of animal
after dividing
the pain of man.
The shared past―
would guide the misreading,
calling bloodbath a mistake.
Balancing the pole, walking
on long rope, in sheer
darkness of moonless night.
The words fall on your
feet, begging the exoneration
from name-calling.
Square meals and two lipped
lavenders, will bring the aroma
to wipe out nonexistence.
Satish Verma, 13 september 2021
He was not at guilt,
it was the neuro―
hormones, hired from moon.
You were burning
inside, smokeless
without flames.
I throw the net―
in lake to catch,
the moon for once.
The day was ready
to close the eyes―
to practice philanthropy.
Satish Verma, 12 september 2021
Not a single word was
written today, watching
the masks being perfected.
A nosedive, of what
I built without mercury,
without threads.
Sitting on a black
stone, wishing moon a
mist bath of absolute.
It again aches, my
roving heart, trying to
knit the harmony in black and white.
Satish Verma, 11 september 2021
I will write a very
soft poem for you today.
Moon had promised
to standby.
You cannot stay outside
your lips. They were frozen.
I will trap a ray of light
when you fall in a pit.
Such aplomb. I must
give you a gift of an Ariel.
Come equinox, I will wait
for the harvest moon.
The pure hymns. I
turn my gold ring for a miracle.
The scars were singing again.
Out of reach, a star winks.
Satish Verma, 10 september 2021
Very scary, I admit―
your vintage―
lovemaking with
a ghost.
Life in a crate was
creating nonpoems.
Water on the ice moon
was never there.
Unmasked you shoot a
songbird in flight.
The soft music went into
the barrel of the gun.
Come and meet my other
self. My penchant for talking
to flowers has made
me a martyr.
Satish Verma, 9 september 2021
It was not a jubilee,
but I had come to pay my debt.
Stepping gingerly in your
father's study, you open the almirah.
No I am not afraid.
I have come to visit my father.
The hurt has not destroyed me completely.
Days were numbed like by vespa stings― with
burning, swelling and soreness.
I slide the clothes. In
deeper layer a plastic pack appears. on the
bed of dried rose petals,
sits a singed, brown vertebra―
collected after his funeral.
My talisman. I touch it.
Turn around―
don't look back
and walk away.
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