Short Unslept Poems

Golden cup thrown at the door
Silver vase thrown to the floor
Harsh words 
are always heard
Tears are wept
Nights unslept
Nights are cold
No one to hold....

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Tribalism:
You break the rules
and become a renegade.

         *

Do not know 
any god. All the
deities were man-made

         * 

In dark, you 
will recognize the faces
of unslept poems.


Satish Verma...

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Knowing there are
many words for night;
mightwatch,nightshade,nightfall

but none for the space
of a halved bed,
an envelope starched,
flat with white,
unslept in

and hands devoid of
a trace of perfume or rest warmth,
a gentle curve.

Let him cherish the lost presence

of a drowned moon
of darkness long
of standing time....

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The rain pon the windowsill
The pounding of my heart
The sound that looms round
the empty room
And rends my soul apart

The pillow next, not damp like mine
unslept on lo these many years
yet stained a bit with drops of wine        
Spilled along with bitter tears
That beleaguer me and always will
Like the rain upon
...The window sill…...

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The lighting, it was over-bright
blinding my unslept,red, tired eye
white sheets shook me with dread and fright
the lighting, it was over-bright
oh! on the stiff body drained white
tattoo of my name on left thigh
the lighting, it was over-bright
blinding my unslept,red, tired eye

Written 06/15/2016 for Julia's contest "First Line Prompt-2"...

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Like a quivering leaf climbing
unreachable thighs of a cloud
in naked shelter of sun.

I lament the fall 
of a colossus
who would not live in a glass house.

Ash smeared on face 
a name walks on the book
of barefoot poems.

Today I am going to morph 
into a death sentence 
for an uncommitted crime.

Who had lost himself 
in unslept awakening
of a disaster ?



Satish Verma...

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Ink bleeds whispers, secrets kept,
A story on paper, unslept.
Words like windows, veiled, and thin,
Reflecting a soul held within.

Eyes, unseen, guide every line,
A silent observer, entwined.
Their gaze shapes the moonlit tide,
Emotions in verses confide.

They watch as the reader takes hold,
A story unfolds, to be told.
Springs from the fresh eyes behind the poem...

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Memories:

Sometimes I wonder if this all is worthy the fight. Memories still so real etched into my mind. For they will not leave so I can have peace.
Nights unslept, tossing and turning. Days gone by in a daze of confusion.  All disrupted by agonizing memories.
Memories that torment every fragment of my soul.  Memories that are still so real even though its been ages ago.  
They never fade away and are still raw with each passing day.
Will these memories ever diminish?...

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