Satish Verma, 8 stycznia 2023
Inviting yourself
for a kiss of wasp?
This was a hidden mood.
Being yourself,
you were insulting someone,
my poems, my theology.
Touching trees,
one by one, searching your
name on every leaf.
O God of half eaten
breads, why do you lie
on the petals only?
The tears fall
was becoming louder.
Frozen eyes are starting a
meltdown.
Where would you live
in autumn?
Satish Verma, 7 stycznia 2023
Searching hegemony
by a lazy eye was not
an easy job for you.
Like an impromptu
attack by a bald eagle
for a small bite.
Let's talk to burning
moon of the dark sky for a
thought of becoming.
Satish Verma, 6 stycznia 2023
You are repeating
hymns to douse the flames
of a burning god.
Walk to the potter's
field, where books are
buried in wraps.
In the wasteland,
you can search the frozen
tears of Zen.
Satish Verma, 5 stycznia 2023
We will watch the
sunset in cahoots and
focus on pulsars.
You live for a critical
cause. Never to retreat.
Was it possible without
some happenings?
The words come and go,
not uttering any sound.
To live or to die for a genesis?
Blooded sky bids
sad farewell to humming―
birds. My half-brother
weeps silently.
Taking final call
of human chain, from the
foster god. I return to
my grass roots.
Satish Verma, 4 stycznia 2023
Dried knuckles will
not fondle the small moons,
accelerating the downfall.
Pomes go red. A
savage invite staring,
to bite the hidden pride.
We never agreed
dividing the river of grief.
Pounding non-stop
like the gorilla.
An endless hole sucks
our sun. Planets have no
choice in the moment
of holocaust.
The birds and bees
fly for the land of brides.
There was no marriage of sins.
Goriness has no excuse
to find another moon.
That was a stranger.
Satish Verma, 2 stycznia 2023
One day balancing over
waters, someone drops dead.
Birds of a feather,
of no final abode,
were going to fall on
burning coals.
This was an era of
collective suicide.
Something goes amiss.
God was absent.
There was no evidence.
I should not have
fallen in love, with no talons.
I cannot bite the nails.
There were no sources.
No walls. You cannot find
the shade under the moon.
The imperial bell
will not toll.
Satish Verma, 1 stycznia 2023
You may go around the world
to touch the moon.
Rocks will beat the power
of dust to take revenge.
My poems were shrinking.
The roses still bloom.
Between the words
and meaning, moon weeps.
Mutually I wanted to
share the meaningless pranks.
Life always betrays the death.
I die daily.
What was your awareness,
when you smell the breath of
an everlasting pain?
Does the god become a human?
Satish Verma, 31 grudnia 2022
Very grim. You
promote the copperheads.
Lakes go dry.
I cannot stop
thinking, watching incessant,
the rains.
Waters send― the
crimson clouds to hide the sun.
Now that ice melts.
Become genderless.
You are walking on a
sleeping volcano.
Where the three
rivers meet, I stand on the bank
to watch bipolarity.
We are not yet dead.
Some wherea flutey whistle calls.
Follow the flames.
Satish Verma, 30 grudnia 2022
Searching human
teeth. Real fossils.
Let go my hand.
Chasing the
flames. No moon to
brighten path.
Sweating in woods.
I am holding roses.
Not thorns.
Struck by
lightning, truth burns.
Rains will not help.
History repeats.
Animals roam in garden
of colored lilies.
It was diplomacy.
The patriarch dies, leaving
the legacy of harms.
Satish Verma, 29 grudnia 2022
No, I don't think,
when I write. My poem
finds its own words.
The thought
moves stealthily. You put
your hand on my hand.
Your eyes now
search the lost kingdom
of trembling nostalgia.
Will I remain
human? Living amidst
the burials? Do the dead
laugh?
Was there a casualty
at beach? You will not swim
nor drown, for becoming
a nightingale.
My eminent revere
was to live, waiting for
you!
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