Satish Verma, 12 lipca 2021
It will come back to you
again and again― the thought
nudging through the magnolias.
Without telling you―
the creamy pink― waxy smell of
the death of the guiding light.
I am lost anew
at the center of conflicts
between earth and moon.
The unspoken pain
of the aroma undrafts
from the fragrant words.
Life folds the hands
at the chest before cracking open
the yawning chasm.
I touch you without any meaning.
No eyes. No ears― miming
secretly the footfalls of shadows.
Satish Verma, 11 lipca 2021
The decay has―
killed the dream songs,
of shut mouths.
Trees were rolling
down on beach
when hurricane collapsed.
It was raining,
carbs and limbs, when
clouds gathered.
You love the
potholes, underground
caves, to hide cardinal sins.
Satish Verma, 10 lipca 2021
The decay has―
killed the dream songs,
of shut mouths.
Trees were rolling
down on beach
when hurricane collapsed.
It was raining,
carbs and limbs, when
clouds gathered.
You love the
potholes, underground
caves, to hide cardinal sins.
Satish Verma, 9 lipca 2021
I will come and meet
you in absence of past.
Why to open the window
to moon. I was not right,
not wrong.
Incensed in endless emotions
by default. I still love
my muse desperately, when you
come and go
in between the verses.
The time bars you
in moments, in twists of puzzles.
You don't make a move,
don't fold your wings,
and cast your spell in the shadows.
The lost sun of my path,
sends the fresh, full moon― between
night and day to blend the pain
and ecstasy of rapture, of knowing
the depth of holy lake.
Satish Verma, 8 lipca 2021
Absolutely zilch.
Sometimes you feel―
nothing moves.
Coming out of
remorse, there was no
confronting power―
to reason. Even
time freezes in your pen,
ink evaporates.
The blues, become
a sacred cove, where
a lake would take birth.
And a speaking
pain will embrace your
sinking boat.
Satish Verma, 7 lipca 2021
Moon crazed fonts
starting a genocide of words
in narcolepsy.
Don't ask me about the amphetamines!
The letters have gone crazy.
No discipline,
no shoes.
They run wildly barefoot,
make you feel a victim of curved lips.
There were no afterthoughts―
about the massacre of essence,
of message, gist and substance.
You stand alone in jungle
of books, unprinted, unspoken
of, finding the
sequence of life.
Satish Verma, 5 lipca 2021
Sheer drop of lightning
takes the brown
land by storm.
The cult grows―
in the hills for
the wolf to stay.
There was no healing
ceremony after
the snake bites.
The bodies are revered with thyme,
when the moon
dips, before dawn.
The natives
were ready to abandon
the glory of man made world.
Satish Verma, 4 lipca 2021
Misreading―
the time zone, clock
refuses to rewind.
The brain shuts,
absenting the self.
No seeing no hearing.
The street,
resuscitates you.
Train whistles to take you away.
What home?
There was no destination.
You will not reach anywhere.
Satish Verma, 2 lipca 2021
Do not count.
Do not return my poems―
written for you,
in memory of hot pink
flamingoes, that had not returned
to their abodes.
Flashbacks. Fear of colors
arises. You shut your eyes.
Idolatry soaring. Night
will ask the stars. Why am I
carrying the burden of a rock
on my shoulders?
Moon laughs.
You stay quiet,
will not commit any kill.
A train whistles by. Evening
plays a thief, stealing your demeanor.
Inside you burn. No smoke was
coming out. No reference―
to smiles and tears.
Satish Verma, 1 lipca 2021
Almost reached.
Your tongue slips;
Then you fall.
The cyclone,
develops an eye, to hit.
You become blind.
An outcast―
became a star
in dark sky.
Why the elite,
of choice or exhibit―
wants to wear rags?
Regulamin | Polityka prywatności
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