Life

Breakfast

The Poetry that I never created,

But the seconds of my day

                                                That I adored so much.

                                                Couldn’t grip the moments

                                                Of my day in my fists                                     

                                                As the iceberg of the day

                                                Set into water and spilled over

                                                From the seams of my fists.

 

                                                After my morning routine,

I’d befall at                                         `           

                                                The dining table of my kitchen,

For my everyday breakfast

                                                With a Mug of Coffee  

Or a Cup of Tea                                             

                                                Arising the whole fullness in                          

                                                The emptiness within me.

 

The morn spun another page

Of my erstwhile diary

With the deeds of that very day,

Too much absorbed I’d be in                              

Savoring the flavor in me

So that my time spilled out

Of my clenched fists

Might never be in futile.  

 

                                                *

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Not You. Not Me

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Wading into future,
why do you carry so many
names?

Will you forget me
wearing my watch?
You were the timer―

not the time. Trying
to unlock the mystery
of tongues.

Killers? Who says?
What about the songbirds?
The whistling dolphins?

Why you are misunderstood?
Why do you sin
on the name of deity?

You were not there
in crowd, when I fell down
and people went running over me.

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Scuttling

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Enfant terrible.
I disown myself,
and try to follow my
occult intution.

Crossing the magnetic
field, I become neutral.
You will have to
collect my tears.

There will be no anniversary
of the funeral,
I will die imperfectly.

Failed to kiss the uninviting
throat of the knife. It
went straight into
my unread anthology.

Your smile will chase me
like a black spider. Its lethal
venom was painless.

Black and blue, if
I could perspire in the
freezing snow of the flames.

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Draw Your Pen

Life’s too short. Life’s too short.

The time to pursue your dreams is right now.

Life’s too short. Life’s too short.

There’s no waiting. It’s time to go.

 

What’s wrong? What’s the matter?

Are you alright? Please talk to me, okay?

 

Did you lose your home again?

Are your parents disowning you?

I’m here for you only if you let me in.

 

I cannot guide you, but I will be along for the ride.

They cannot put strings on you forever

If you find the scissors to cut them.

Your passions are only for you to decide.

 

Life on Earth could end tomorrow so why the fuck are you wasting your time?

You were born for adventure so you might as well draw your pen.

 

Life’s too short. Life’s too short.

The time to pursue your dreams is right now.

Life’s too short. Life’s too short.

There’s no waiting. It’s time to go.

 

There’s one thing that you need to know;

It’s to always keep an open mind.

You will possess such beautiful magic

If you would only take a chance.

 

The universe is so much bigger than we realize.

The sun will not last forever. It’s just a fireball that can burn out.

Marine life is going extinct and it’s all our fault.

 

Life on Earth could end tomorrow so why the fuck are you wasting your time?

You were born for adventure so you might as well draw your pen.

 

Life’s too short. Life’s too short.

The time to pursue your dreams is right now.

Life’s too short. Life’s too short.

There’s no waiting. It’s time to go.

 

Pellets Of Frozen Pain

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Becoming wolverine,
to find the mutant gene.
What I wanted was, to find
a companion.

You had moved on―
reviving the ontogeny.
Struggling with your mystery,
a god changes his norm.

Always― failed to know
myself, there was a nagging
question. Why? You accept
and then mutilate the new born faith.

The animal instinct rises to hate―
your own species for liberation.
I dare not to confess
the role of flesh in blaming the spirit.

A crisis renews the
holiness to hide behind
the words of a current avatar.

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tags:

End Game

Folder: 
Satish Verma

I would dream every night.
Are you there among the crushing
artifacts? The ruins―

had entered into my
bones. The erosion demands
the price of tomorrow.

Make it easy the severance
of my right arm. Blood does not
frighten me. It was donated.

I have frozen fears. I cannot
touch you. Not in day light.
Darkness will carry my
poems to you.

Blank papers will weep
for unwritten end of the naked
truths. Plasma will dry up.

There is no bone marrow
to be investigated for graft.

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At Risk

Folder: 
Satish Verma

No story was left
between us. You will not
start any new event.

You sing the absolution
amidst the hails. I was not
ready to retaliate on two legs.

The vibrations reach the
sea. The waves prepare the
advance attack to pull down the sky.

Two small lips tremble.
Even the irises swell―
before the frost.

The naked dolls swim
before the moon rises. There
were no stars in sky.

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my overactive tear ducts

Folder: 
2019

An unfortunate truth, this.

I try to protect my skin from all the salt.

I try to hyperventilate you closer.

 

I try not to think about

the maybes

that will turn me to an ocean.

 

Saltwater doesn’t remind me enough of home.

 

Silly me.

I miss birthday cakes.

I miss things I didn’t know I had.

 

But then

autumn falls

instead of my face,

I step on leaves

instead of your heart,

something sparks inside.

 

Wednesdays are a jack in the box.

It is just when you think

nothing’s going to happen

that it does.

 

I remember I am happy much more than

I am sad

and aren’t those the moments

we need to remember?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 11/3/19

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Dangerous Territory

I’ve been swimming in the deep end lately.

My head is spinning in circles.

My heart had never been so hollow on the inside.

I need to catch my breath before I do anything else stupid.

 

My work of art is an escape from uniformity.

I felt safe with you for the time being.

At the end of the week, you cuddled me

When the sergeant had an off day at work and took it out on me.

 

I let you in like I did when I meet new people.

You were happy for me when I told you I finally found love.

I wanted nothing more than a friend’s reassurance that everything will be okay.

But you in particular were a land mine waiting to explode.

 

It’s dangerous territory where you’re from as a queer.

It’s dangerous territory where I lurk on the web.

It’s dangerous territory to build a world without receiving adequate training.

It’s dangerous territory to make friends with volatile people like you.

 

I can barely read script in Delphi without misinterpreting some if not most of its passages.

My art isn’t like what you’d expect to see in other do-it-yourself or high-profile projects.

The way I write, the way I archive, and the way I distribute information is my strongest suit.

There is no way I can fulfill my goal in life alone without the help of a team that knows its stuff.

 

You didn’t have to sugarcoat your advice to fix my problems

But you didn’t have to pull more than my teeth either.

You spoke to me as if I had to know every damn trick in the book.

You pointed out where I went wrong as if I didn’t already understand it.

 

I would have welcomed your advice if you watched your language.

I would have been more considerate if we joined forces as planned.

But being friendly with you in light of this is just out of question.

You can say that I’m high all you want, but it goes to show that you’re smaller than you think.

 

It’s dangerous territory where you’re from as a queer.

It’s dangerous territory where I lurk on the web.

It’s dangerous territory to build a world without receiving adequate training.

It’s dangerous territory to make friends with volatile people like you.

 

A vagabond told me this morning that I don’t learn much from success

And boy, I sure did learn a lot about your character more than what it takes to be top dog.

I might also let it slip that you exploded in my face because your little rant was all over the place.

In that case, riddle me this, who among the two of us really needs room for improvement?