Ah! the first counting
in this room
these shadows
how many insects?
sleep and rest?
a sign of malaria?
how many dogs look
at this bone
funnyly and dearly?
the rest is in snail
his likeness and unlikeness
now, in the twilight
a noise
breaking tortoise
even here?
may be the next
counting in the snow
is the rest of pan Africanization?.
I used to know a poet. His slovenly disheveled poems reminded me an alcohol-prone loser’s beard, but in person he happened to be a clean-shaven, well-tailored gentleman who hasn't had a drop since Bicentennial. And sometimes it's just the other way round: aristocratic rhymes on closer examination turn into dipsomaniacs.
poets and their poems
don't resemble each other -
poets die poems don't
The odor brings the
neo-violence, along the fault line.
Standing on the road.
You,
do not want to go right, or left.
Chemoreceptors will warn about
the incoming quake.
They will crush the blooms, the
corrupt winds.
The landscape was changing.
The unlikeness, when you come
back from woods.
You do not mean anything.
Words don’t convey the full meaning.
The thoughts will find a poem.
Satish Verma
In your domain
walking with men of straw
to immolate myself.
If power was sacred
why you did not stop
the reversing of gender role ?
Oh, there was water on Mars
streaking like the tears
on your face.
The apes were coming.
There was elation and suspicion.
The vortex of existence needs surgery.
Unlikeness calls for
introspection. I am asking
god to pray for me.
Satish Verma
To banish my violent games
Is to banish your writing pens
I may fantasize in gunfire flames
As you've written of now and then's
I have killed a billion bytes and bits
You have made a billion many bored
But the bytes and bits are not life lists
And the pen is mightier than the sword
Actual time of occurrence is killed
Not the people of angry games or rhyme
Complete devastation when drinks are spilled
Satisfaction from both fulfilling time
Unlikeness of a poem I'll leave it be
Unlikeness of a game you leave it be
(I'm not sure if this is a true sonnet poem, I am not a poet, I just started getting into poetry (reading mostly)so I can enhance my ability to write lyrics to my music ... feel free to critique,this is my 1st poem I have ever attempted to write properly.. (Im gonna need all the help I can get ! )
Deep down thighs, unhoisted,
what was there, harvesting the sperms ? At dusk
an inflorescence breaks into myriads
of fireworks, wrecked apologia,
interned unlikeness, insanity, kissing the goldenrod
to start the flow of bare grief.
I deserve no nobility, my moonscape
has a blazing truth about a shooting star
which went into a gape groaning. Somebody
is done for, for a fragile skull. The riverbed
buries the dead child in white sands.
That lump rises again. I said, I never carry
the death on my shoulders. Wrap up and play
the drums for I lost the pathways to enemies.
SATISH VERMA
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