Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 26 november 2021

Enormous Precipice

Ah, the statecraft of
present times, was becoming
agender.
The strength of institution
would lie in old oil paintings.

You become stupid
and start living in dark rooms
to understand the sun.

Half-beliefs were―
cooked straight from the
sermons of striped coats.

The delusion was
simple. There was camphora
to revive the fainting glory.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 24 november 2021

Only God Knows

There was no respite
from the repeated assaults.

When did I ask you to move
slitherly with words?

A straight delivery
was needed to refrain after
the collective suicide.

There was a conspiracy theory
that a super moon was
going to drown you
in honey.

Now you come back
to seek pardon and then
start destroying the truths
with impunity.

It was an intrigued
home coming
with braided locks.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 23 november 2021

Dying To Unsay

A lesser person walks
in the dead man's street
to meet his metastasized
oncocytes to,

kill for the sake of kill,
death for a song that was
not there.

And you will keep wearing
the explosive vest
which will not go off.

Luteum. The color of
spring spreads. No prolactin.
Milk has dried up,
and so the tears in the eyes.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 22 november 2021

A Sacrifice

Your face becomes
an eye, a saga of
holding the assaults.

A body hails
the sagacity.

A child becomes a man
away from home
of truths, god forbids.

The innocence gives
rise to a mound of bones.
Death lingers to
take revenge.

Brutality breeds
brutality. Can anyone
break this cycle by giving
one's life after receiving the award?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 november 2021

Pummelled

It was a direct hit,
meeting an immaculate
moon tonight.


Was it possible― that
a star flew off the sky
to undo something?

I was the mist,
and I was the sun.
Describing the accident―
not the truth.

The molester.
Time, steps out taking a big
chunk of life.

Unhinged, a messiah
drops dead―
at the door of equity.

How vain, was the
ego of man!


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 november 2021

In Darkness

Talking to Morpheus
when moon was asleep.

I was not guilty of
waking you up.

In splinters, the man
goes deaf and dumb.

A violin was thrown
on the track to stop the music.

Death becomes a finger,
points at you.

The rodes become blind.
There was no D-Day for exit.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 november 2021

Crazy Thoughts

A blighted ovum
demands a ransom for life.
Unhinged, you rub with―
the command and
set free a poem.

Some very visceral fears
hold your hand and
ask to write an epitaph
of yourself.

Unboiling the egg in
irreverent manner, you
proceed to make death,
out of eternal entangled questions.

The sheer stress unmakes
you into a creator
and you begin to spawn
a new religion of violence.


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RENATA

RENATA, 18 november 2021

kochanka

dotyk dłoni ust i języka
nikt tak nie kocha jak on
nikt tak nie dotyka

noce bezsenne gdy splot ciał
grzeszny kac wśród pościeli
fal magnetyzm szyję całują usta
i niżej niżej wolno taktownie

i kwiatów bukiet na odchodne
ich kolce wchodzą w dłonie
wino jest jak narkotyk aż po świt
wtulona w pustą poduszkę po tobie

bo Ty właśnie przy żonie niby
nie kochasz jej lecz nie potrafisz
odejść opowiadasz tak niesamowite
historie ale nigdy nie powiesz kocham Cię

serce mi płacze chcę Cię rzucić skasować
Ty uparcie wracasz głodny mej gładkiej skóry
łabędziej smukłej szyi ja brudna i potępiona
w ciąży jest twoja żona żółkną słowa więdną myśli

diabeł rozpustnik namalował wizje taka żądza ciała
jeśli znów o zmierzchu będziesz miał ochotę
tego wczoraj już nie będzie scenariusz napisało życie
dziś ja pod sercem noszę cząsteczkę zawiłości

bez ciebie już słucham porywających za serce muz
bez ciebie już


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 november 2021

Singing In Dark

Will I know you―
by unknowing myself in bleak―
moments of giving
wings to you?

Raising your legacy; losing
my words, I block
a masterstroke. Something
was wrong. I was walking alone.

Disrobing a covered
statue, the anguish of
incorrectness hangs.

Enduring a song of―
drums, calling the sun from clouds
for a wounded earth.

What was truth
in jungle of beasts? Any
humming left on the lips of trees?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 17 november 2021

Winter Backdrop

An earthy scent
rises, when―
you rain in me.

The hole in
heart. Naked
as salt of eyes.

My roving boat
sinks near
the banks of ashes.

Pure and white
like snow
you fall on my lips.


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