Short Polity Poems

What the world needs today is frivolity
Benign silliness of the highest quality,
Mixed in with various country’s polity
Will clearly enhance the planet’s jollity.

FIRST PLACE WINNER
"BEST MONORHYME" Poetry Contest
written July 4, 2021...

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For a moonshine, 
there was no moon.
There was no moon
for a moonshine.

It starts a tenuous
soliloquy, raising a –
slew of questions.

Slew of questions will
evoke a mixed response. 

Were you ready for 
a sleepover at the shrine 
to watch the St. Vitus’s dance.

It was leaking at night
from the corner of eyes.

Unaging was the secret
of polity. Are you in ?



Satish Verma...

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A dynast in the storm-razed
polity will ask-
for a pardon.

By choice there was
no suicide. You will
eat the clouds one day.

Taking the brunt,-
living  near the sea of
people, a window goes shut.

Curtly, with
levitation, the wind
twists, one and everybody.

An owl tattoo, will 
tell it all. The hurricane
has reached your door.

Aftermath was a 
conspiracy of silence.
Every one was speaking of landfall.


Satish Verma...

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The invisible 
throws a visible image 
without a tether. 
Do you see the god ?   

Was a matter of faith ? 
You tie a thread on the wall. Longing 
finally reaches climax. Gravity 
defies a flying dream.       

You had erred, yet 
failed to accept the guilt. 
A scariest moment was, 
when you entered the morph.  

It was a U-turn. Robots 
will dictate the polity. You 
alight on a rostrum; like 
a lovely pink swallow.


Satish Verma...

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There was no colour in the nude
and skin deep fire was raging
not leaving much of a trail.

A Janus cat,
that is our man of polity
with two faces.

Walking alone at midnight,
that is larger than life, on
death of a galaxy, where -

the crack of dawn meets
dandelion to decide the course
of bloody day. They were –

coming in huge lots to kneel
and kiss the hands of their master,
who will leave his signature –

in deep cleavage. Who was
guarding the doorway to
my sleep ?


Satish Verma...

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The questions hang like skin tags.
A broken mirror, stabs
during birth of time.

We have got to do it, save it
in its infancy, before it is submerged
along with the temple of fake gods :-

before it is plagiarized by the
polity. The wives were fattening
on art of running the state

from behind the curtains. Would
you like to sign on my skin ?
Your death wish ? I am washing

my sins today. It is bit cold
here in the blue lake of tears. Now
you can hold my arm for final plunge.



Satish Verma...

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