Good Old Mother Death

Good old Mother Death

For at the ends of our troubles

We can run into her arms

Sleep the endless sleep

And dream of better things


These harlequin masks I've worn for so long

They won't come off of my face

Every day, with different people

A separate reflection looks back at me


I do so many things

That I don't want to do

“Oh be careful little eyes,

Oh be careful little ears”

For what we've experienced

Will never leave us


Why do I want people around me

When all I do is push them away

Why do I build myself up

Only by tearing others down?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This was on my phone since forever, wanted to post it so I could clear up the space

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My Dream: Confront with My Death

In the night of sore darkness

In the thunderstorms,

A hungry plant lapping water

Till it’s too stiff to stand.


Striving to nap against my hand

In my own bed

Blinking my memorable eyes

At someone totally engaged in

Carving the night into figurine

That blows out midnight candle.


The wind wearing the curtain

In my room perceive the tree

The soundless howling

Of faceless ghosts

Digging the ground by its toes

Into my back to be in hurry.


When these ghosts came

To drag me out of my bed,

In the other world, my beloved

Beading her hair and

Plucking butterflies from cactus plants.


I shrieked from inside a fountain

A mermaid warned me to be silent.


Alas! I dreamt of me

Walking into the fast moving cars

And waking up with the wrecked arms

Just in the next morning.                                    


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When an eve elapsed by,

A chilly pallid half-moon

Sets below my lip,

And the other half-moon

Lies inside my mouth.

Tearing the flesh apart

Out of its body

Tastes the veal of craving,

Emerges out the spits

As the heap of soils

After the digging the earth

To unearth another world

of eternal bliss and ecstasy

I longed during my life.  


Never sentient I’m of

My spit spilling steadily

Out of my mouth

Like the fizzy blood,

The tint of my craving

That fiddles in

The heap of the words

In which my pen as the shovel

Shoves out the metaphors and similes

In the poetry of my essence.


During the lifetime,

I’m hectic in exploring

The ultimate truth

Of immortality never existed,

Not aware of the mortality of

My life and my existence

Only a fraction of a second

Appraising the life span

Of the earth I subsisted.  


Supermarket (January day 21)

You couldn’t care less,

I’ve never cared more.


I care about

the oranges that get picked over

at the supermarket.

I almost tell them

I am bruised like you.


I toss them into my cart

I will give them a home.


They will live better in my house than

the stale that has taken over my heart.


They will live better in my house than

the things I can’t wake up to anymore.


They will live better in my house than

the dust I keep wanting to shape into memories.


I need to fill this space with


so I don’t

keep looking back.


Someone passes and

they have your voice they have your touch they have your name they have your name


I take my oranges

leave the cart

leave my cares

walk home.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 1/21/21


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Things We Carry (January day 1)

we are all just

a collection of the things we carry


I have a honey-gold rope that ties me to all the places I come to and can’t leave

I have a vanishing trunk full of smoke and shells

I have a sudden urge to kiss you


I have a broom closet trapped in my head

it is where you might find her sometimes

I have a voice that is sometimes the icicle & sometimes the melt

I have a heart still splintering


I have half a coin I have split and spent with you

I have too many heartbeats held in old fraying boxes

I have pockets filled with pieces of us


I have a sound that pounds through the walls like silence

I have the quietest storm of hell in my head

I have all your syllables-

I will mold them till they’re mine


if I come to you on a broken sled

do you think it’s worth it to take me in

if I come to you on broken fingers

will you still call me your greatest success


will you make room for all the things we carry

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 1/1/21

things we carry

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Mountains and valleys 

Holding chill and sweat. 

Deserts and oases 

Lacking and flooding life. 

Nightmares and dreamscapes 

Of terror and wonder. 


Up then down

And up again. 

Pillaged and 

Plundering yet. 


And salty still. 


Ups and downs,

Backs and forths,

Joys and pains,

Peaks and troughs. 



And wavelengths 

Not only of 

Life and death, 

But of here 

And after,

Before here,

And hereafter.

Sines of life. 

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Tell Me, Tell Me

Satish Verma

Under the cosmic
dust, an elite existence
wants to close the waterhole.

Hostility was increasing
between the same species.

But evil and good would
always co-sleep.

O Buddha
I will make the tree
walk and come to you
where you used to sit under.

And ask some stingy
questions. Why you want non―
violence when violence
would always exist?

And the light
hesitates to shine in pitch dark?
And the words remain quiet?

Why it was so impossible?

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And death shall
not walk in the street,
on the shoulders
of dead dreams.

It was not a
mythical slip, when visuals
had no mirrors, no ink.
When I go into rage
flames will rise from the sea.

You will not count
the burning rings. History
repeats the rule of blood.
Skin alters the frontiers.

The insane love
demands your toes, so
you would not walk away
from the periphery of blue hills.

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The Half Story of Us


Humans who tripped over each other on different days, deliberately with

A little chaos, are just tangled enough now, calling

Names as you walk in the door

Knowing, more now that you have put it in words, this is the one thing we’re all sure about. This is solid ground.


Another day brings another mountain but

Living and not living here, she is still ours, and more

Love comes from harder hours.

You see how pieces collide and make this better whole because I don’t want a story that hasn’t seen some shit.


Not enough just to talk, she travels

In between states before I can blink. Teaches us that ties are

Not just based on the memories, but based on the now.

All your enemies are our enemies.


Caught in our own

Hurricanes, it somehow gets easier to keep one foot on the ground when we come together. We are

Ready to go anywhere if you ask- he is driving and the stars are

Infinity, infinity and together a bigger slice of the world is ours. There is no

Shame in wanting to live more because they are living. That’s what I keep telling myself as


My heart is racing and I can barely hear

All the noise and quiet we make, the sounds that make me want to say

Yes, decide to trust whatever this is.

Almost like it is not a decision but a step that will lead to more.


Her eyes blazing, she launches into

Another monologue on something that matters- us, the patriarchy, the world.

Not needing to add, I listen. Sometimes I wish I could speak like that,

Nothing but fire and care, just a mind and a voice, leave the consequences behind. But for me this is the best way to say it, even if I can’t quite capture

All the things we say and don’t say. The night ends with us

Hanging on words we hope to remember tomorrow.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 7/22/20