Short Aborts Poems

Hiding from 
the day 
with night
growing short
The light
to expose
what darkness
— aborts

(Dreamsleep: December, 2024) 
...

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Paying hard
the money short
pockets empty
time aborts
A pound of flesh
bills remain
invoice closing
—  sealed with pain

(Dreamsleep: December, 2024)
...

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Shorts up his arse,
Not moving very fast,
Shorts are too mini,
You see too much skinny,
Hand down his pants,
As if there were ants,
The “fit” of his shorts,
Made our lunch aborts,
Fiddling fiddling all the time,
In his teeny tiny shorts the colour lime,
Slick and wet they are so tight,
Will he get out of them… 
He might (not)....

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The system aborts.
(Multiple organs failure)
A deviant art
of dying pompously.

I wish, I was on a -
moving floor, sailing
without a walk, looking at
the camouflaged ceiling.

The shrill voice of a whistle-
blower, mimics an opera.
I will snatch the words,
raw, from your lips. 

It was here, in absence.
Your  poesy, matter-of-factly.
Can you raise your voice
against the fall of the thing.


Satish Verma...

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Hmm! I want that someone come and talk,
No, man! I am not goin' to them to say hello.
Mission aborts! Don't see them and just walk,
If they don't come, goodbye to that fellow.

Is there anyone wanting to be my friends?
I am sitting alone here, right here buddies!
I am just overthinking, and oops lecture ends,
Grow up Meet! Let's concentrate on studies!

Oh no! What if they are too introvert!
Oh my God! UNO REVERSE!...

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Hands hold, faces face
Eyes embrace, distance dissolves
Time stops, love lingers.

Hands hang, faces warp
Eyes glare, bridges burn
Past crashes, time aborts.

Minds mangle, hearts abrade
Egos blaze, identity incinerates
Pledges perish, bonds break.

Road deserted, journey desolate 
Present pines, future forlorn 
Change reigns, time rues. 

_______________

September 25, 2022
For A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Contest...

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A tribal fear
was lurking,
behind a surge of emotion.
The sun was looking black.

A sexual abuse
of a quaint flower
aborts the fruit.
This year we will go hungry.

A nascent seed
stripped on road-
cries for water.
We hear without listening.

Death by a grave
was a domestic claim.
But you were found dead in a bunker.

Life vows to stand alone
on the burning deck-
of a turbulent ship.
The ocean will find a bloody hand one day.			


SATISH VERMA...

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