"The wound is the place where the light enters you".
As a woman, been hurt many times,
Rejected, ignored, ridiculed,
Still, if there is a rebirth,
If I return to this earth again,
I want to be a woman!
I never knew words can be so hurtful,
Words can inflict wounds as cruel as a dagger can.
When I was bruised, I learned to bear that pain,
Staying unperturbed, upright and strong.
In those moments I realized,
It’s not only the agony I am going through,
I am being enlightened by suffering,
Disillusioned with human nature,
Humans can be as cruel as animals,
Sometimes may be more.
Those wounds were not life-threatening,
Nor were they damaging for my mental health,
They did not break me.
Instead a serene light entered into me,
My vision of the world became unclouded,
My confidence in myself increased many folds.
The drooping flower did not fall on the ground,
Petals were not crumpled,
It opened in its glory.
Dropping Flowers, Blades Of Grass, And Us
Like flowers droop
but refuse to die
from the heat,
like tanned fields
subsumed in the struggle
to survive and keep
the flow of transpiration,
like the trodden blades of grass
pushing through sidewalk holes
to capture the cosmic energy
that fuels them onward
the victory they seek
to be free,
we, like all of nature,
must continue to travel
the jubilee road
riddled with imposing holes
and nullifying roadblocks
that causes us to stop
by the roadside
once and a while,
to check our engines,
water up,
and refuel our spirits
with divine wisdom
and guidance,
navigating us onward
and upward
on the paved footprinted way
our ancestors have left us
in the never ending passageway
to freedom, justice, and equality:
thus, let us buckle up,
and with eyes on the prize,
hit the pedal
along the remaining
bumpy way
of our liberation sojourn:-
A reluctant dawn
predicts a heel dragging day.
The sun slinks away from the sky
with dawn cast eyes.
Pond ducks swim slow,
as amnesia paddles them
in nowhere circles.
Lead tinted tears,
plop from stiff trees,
or hang as chill,
metallic drops of
melting air.
Some early hours
must drip-dry
all over your eyes
creating a lip-heavy
sag,
until someone
you don't like the look of,
shouts:
"Good morning,"
The drooping lilacs
resemble the wilted poppies
that wait for rainfall...
their spring glory has vanished!
Written on 6/25/2017
the flowers droop
but refuse to die
from the heat
like tanned fields
subsumed in the struggle
to survive to keep
the flow of transpiration
like the trodden
blades of grass
pushing upward
through the hole of sidewalks
to capture
the cosmic energy source
that fuels them onward
towards the victory
they seek
to be free
like we seek to be
as we continue
to travel the Jubilee road
riddled with imposing holes
and nullifying roadblocks
that cause us to stop
by the roadside
once and a while---
droop and recalculate
our sojourning strategies
to get us to the journey’s end:
in the land
of my father’s pride
for which in war—
he and his father died—
protecting the home of the brave
and the land of the free
which has thus far prohibited me
from true freedom, justice and liberty.
For a desolatory trident
I was feeding my anger.
I could not do it, sell
myself for punitive lenses of my calculus.
A nymphalid arsenal.
The war was still going on
to strike in deep poctets, demolishing
nascent hope. Future will
ponder at the mascots. The grief
of rags and riches will continue
listening to eternal conflicts.
The wounds will develop whiskers.
Not for the opulent pain in the body :
we were crying for the glory of the man
which was disappearing fast,
under the whirling snow of broken stars.
SATISH VERMA
Standing in that room
White walls
No windows
No door
Everything is absolutely white
No color
Its making me
Go crazy
No one
Can get in
Only one way out
It is the only color
In the room
A brown
Drooping rope
Calling my name
Wanting me to come
And introduce myself
I get on a chair
And say my name
Asking it one question
How will you get me out of here
It does not speak
The only thing it does
Is wrap around my neck
I dont know whats going to happen
So I start to struggle
Very bad idea
Im trying to get it off
That evil rope
Just keeps on getting tighter
Making it hard for me
To breathe
One false move
Kicking the chair over
I fall
But am caught
By the rope
That is around my neck
I see a new color
No more white
Everything else
Is pitch black
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