Satish Verma, 5 kwietnia 2024
Walking in sleep
you tiptoed as if gliding
on the cold water.
The forest weeps.
Burning and billowing
for the deathless mind.
No slogans. I will
wear the hijab of moon
to meet my lover.
Satish Verma, 4 kwietnia 2024
You are in
anaphylaxis. A prayer
on the blue lips.
The weightless time
knows the secret of past
and future game.
The incisors of
ancient skull of Lucy
had remained intact.
Satish Verma, 3 kwietnia 2024
I dream to you.
You were moving like a space
rock ready to collide.
Everyone reaches
to one's own end any day.
What would you carry?
You may need to
sedate yourself. It is a
long pain to live.
Satish Verma, 2 kwietnia 2024
The troubled mind
seeks boundless words
for eccentricity.
You grab the hidden
kiss. Give me the smile
of a mooned heart.
At dusk you will talk
with eyes, trembling hands
igniting dry tips.
Satish Verma, 29 marca 2024
You teach me to
cry for the lost future after
yestergain offered
In a sacrifice
ritual. Blue lines are
appearing on my hands.
The child was walking
towards moon at apogee
but light was very dim.
Satish Verma, 28 marca 2024
Who had punished
the earth? Her head of moon
felled off at guillotine.
Let go. I am afraid
of myself. It is no time to
commensurate with love.
What was unsaid, will
speak eyes on their own. Give back
my basket of roses.
Satish Verma, 27 marca 2024
A crowd of clones
was picking up sleeveless
shirts from potter's field.
Strangely nobody knows,
who were you after the
last laugh of the destiny.
The passion takes
you towards burning ghat, where
ultimate truth was hanged.
Satish Verma, 26 marca 2024
Sometime I want
to say to myself, why don't
you walk the ramp―
of burning Amazon.
The naveus was becoming
darker on moon.
You partition
the souls and then begin
climbing the rising sun.
Satish Verma, 25 marca 2024
Like ghost particles
we came near each other
to generate sparks.
You would not read
what you had written on
my pulsating forehead.
I will wait for you
in timeless space for
your surrender on pyre.
Satish Verma, 24 marca 2024
Pebbles in hand, nudge
to start talking about the life that
was going to throw the moon.
The oleander wears
the roses without thorns. But you
cannot keep the facts without blood.
Would you tell the truth?
What I think gets printed on your
face. The beginning resembles the end.
Regulamin | Polityka prywatności
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