The poet apologizes to Donovan
Thrown like a fly on the wall
It's sixty years since his last call
Who would have thought we would see
The ending of democracy
When will the Hurdy Gurdy Man, come singing songs of love…
Not learning from histories past
Abdicating power fast
Self-rule is not certainty
Despots don’t serve humanity
When will the Hurdy Gurdy Man, come singing songs of love…
Each the all and one the all, the knowing
X-ray vision spiritual discerns
Unless ego begins interfering
Burn the past oh hermit! Simply unlearn
Exiting narrowness, take a u-turn
Replenishing joy, abdicating frown
Attentive joyfulness as of a clown
Negating nothing, we follow the scent
Converting our name into a pronoun
Evaporated self exuberant
23-December-2020
(Acrostic Dizain)
The sheet is off the portrait
and the Dorian no longer gray –
it’s all about power, and greed
that’s on display –
little thought really of color
outside their mandate to
encourage greater divide –
more truth are in the shades
long steadily on the rise…
We are a blended society,
in our hearts and in our
deeds; though evil controls
the voices – most media
intent at causing injurious
stampedes – News abdicating
information for paychecks –
cashed while
innocence bleeds –
The King and I
I have seen the king of Spain abdicating
in full uniform, but his cap was too small
this made him look jolly except for his
cane and the small steps of an old man.
Until recently he looked handsome and
had many mistresses and he was fond of
hunting elephants; he has given up both
pursuits and is faithful to the queen.
Old age sometimes arrive suddenly, there
you are walking about feeling in tune with
the world, for next waking up in a hospital
being lifted by strong arms from a trolley to
a bed and have your shrunken ***** cleaned
by a brisk nurse. The king and I are identical.
Abdicating the shadows;
totemic.
I return back to dig up the buried-
moon from the ruins of poetry.
It benumbs.
No response was coming from
cajoling the black secrets-
of time-cast.
A storm was raging in a pack
of emptiness. Like a dead fly
between the pages of skulls.
I couldn’t find the exact words.
The religion of wish-lists.
Can you find the end of desires ?
From thought to thought-
was there any vision ?
Satish Verma
On the lush meadow
Serene ostrichs rest
Towering it with vigilance
Rheas they seem from distance
Indulging in sweet silence
Counting evey single chick
Huddled under their wide wings
Abdicating as everyone learns survival
Nurturing them with keenness
Demolishing parental worries
Warning them of stinging wasps
Always looking for new victims
Surrounding them with loud buzzing
Pugnacious and vicious as bulldogs
slayers they surely are
savage was the bond of weakness;
we were hiding behind the pain
of decline, abdicating the singed shrine
of nameless opposition, nowhere the roots
were reaching the bottom of truth, I ran
like river of life amongst the flames, you try to
resuserstate a dozing century by burning
poems, every wen fighting the jinx,
counting the tiny deaths
give me your locked secrets of fire
let me face the cold-blooded murder
in caldron of dead lips
SATISH VERMA
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