The natives have
(since the seventh month peeped
through the lean crescent eye of the moon)
worn cloaks of festivities.
They dance the rites,
squelching proudly in mud and green pools
of water.
On their heads are smouldering fires of corns
And pears, and ingredients of a lush season.
Behold their mothers’ breasts!
Flopping tonelessly with life and ceremonial milk.
The engaging flesh of birth.
And their fathers’ ribs —bare and fractured—
Like splinters from bamboos of white; strong bows of
A fragmented hunting group.
Their daughters dance with frenzied gaits,
Insisting on frantic melodies.
Drums throb on with the vim of restlessness.
Flutes hasten with the speed of departing tunes.
Ogele* sounds with the rhythm of fraternal bliss . . . .
The village sons bend their torsos in tremulous dance steps,
reluming low-burning
ancestral fires.
Breathe in now the image of a raging ceremony,
Symbols of a rite,
which hang on the rafters of a community,
this seventh month of the yam calendar.
*Metal gong
Categories:
tonelessly, africa, culture, rain,
Form: Free verse
The natives have
(since the seventh month peeped
through the lean crescent eye of the moon)
worn cloaks of festivities.
They dance the rites,
squelching proudly in mud and green pools
of water.
On their heads are smouldering fires of corns
And pears, and ingredients of a lush season.
Behold their mothers’ breasts!
Flopping tonelessly with life and ceremonial milk.
The engaging flesh of birth.
And their fathers’ ribs —bare and fractured—
Like splinters from bamboos of white; strong bows of
A fragmented hunting group.
Their daughters dance with frenzied gaits,
Insisting on frantic melodies.
Drums throb on with the vim of restlessness.
Flutes hasten with the speed of departing tunes.
Ogele* sounds with the rhythm of fraternal bliss . . . .
The village sons bend their torsos in tremulous dance steps,
reluming low-burning
ancestral fires.
Breathe in now the image of a raging ceremony,
Symbols of a rite,
which hang on the rafters of a community,
this seventh month of the yam calendar.
*Metal gong
Categories:
tonelessly, africa, rain,
Form: Free verse
A chorus of boxes hums tonelessly on high rafters
where unwieldy boxed and stocked memory realms
squirm under drowsy dust just beyond my sight’s reach.
On my journey, family, romantic loves, places
and friends have deeply dipped me twisted
then spun in bleary pieced feeling conditions
that time tossed dark-shelved from my vision.
But around does come moments of poignant grabs
that hoist me thru the dust to see a memory touch
and as I sit or lie with it, it seeps my depths inside of it.
Categories:
tonelessly, deep, emotions, family, friendship,
Form: Free verse
I am still naked inside.
Beautiful, trace element
is trembling, involuntarily
in infamy.
You live to succumb again.
The halved body does not stir
after the explosion.
Lips were moving without voice.
Tonelessly your feet
melt in the steps of saints.
The wounded sun is born again
in the name of faceless martyrs.
For whom the birds will fly
after a terror strike ?
The sky was asking the wayfarer,
who has betrayed the path ?
Satish Verma
Categories:
tonelessly, art,
Form: ABC
Listlessly watching tonelessly seeing
Hands twisted into the harmony of defeat
Minds growing with the molds of the unfolding
Of the sonnet of fate and its moments of discreet
Senses drowning into the pit of your false confidence
The urgent beating of a broken heart
Cascading velvet shuddering under the weight of the wind
Twirling among the blackness of this art
Tapping awareness in the annoying glare of an eye
Simple caress in the world in which you try
Little baby longing for its mother
Or the mournful wail of a wolf before it dies
You hear them everywhere, you cannot escape them
They are your leeches that haunt your every thought and dream
It is almost impossible to win against such renewing,
of a busted mind mourning to its very last frail seam
Categories:
tonelessly, introspection, love, song-teen, uplifting,
Form: Rhyme