A nub in the ocean,
the bald eagle
fails to fly away with

Poem

I can hear the world
ringing to itself
all those coins
in our pockets,and not
even a couple of them
one at a time
can stop an argument

Them by Anupam Kant Verma

Them

Oh, well, yes,
There are the damned
And then there are those
Who pull rivers
Out of the sky
Whose dogs go hungry
In their sleep
And, of course, those
Who walk into women
The way the blind
Walk into doors
Whose women
Walk out on them
The way only they can
Leaving behind
A scratch on the sofa
A panting door
And how could I forget those
Who sing underwater
Who sing in their sleep
Who sing when they fuck
Sing and sing and sing
And hum at funerals
And drown when they weep
Oh and those
Who swim in their breath
And chase stars
On moonlit ponds
With the swollen ends
Of their feet
Then there are always of that kind
Resembling old gloves
Torn by longing
Mended by fireflies
Worn by none
And last there are these
Only men
Who stare at turnstiles
Who stare at windows
Who stare at scarlet-burning lips
Stare at the dying
Stare at those aching to live
Stare at their own tears
Trembling on their palms
Who stare at leaping fish
And the drowning limb
Who stare and stare and stare
At their elbows
And staring they
Break into a dance
And just for a while
They forget the living
They forget all of us
And whirling and swirling
On their toes
They forget
The bulging bulbs
The needles
The haystacks
And panting and huffing
And puffing and sweating
They forget the names
Of the songs they never sang
They forget the lips, the hips,
The pinched cheeks the sunsets
Toenails thighs
Madly roving hands
Sandsunk feet
And as they come crashing
Down on the floor
Gasping for sober air
They forget this poem exists
They forget the dance
They forget they live.

Anupam K.


Anupam Kant Verma is a close friend,although that been said,we have never met in person.He shies away from sharing his work publicly and is defiant to the extent that he would have his poems live in reclusion just as himself.Being the decent friend i am i decided to rescue some of his work and as a near personal favour he let me post one of his finest works(personal opinion) which i've had the privilege to read.Bravo friend...

With no references to the moon at midnight

This robe and its colour
the misgiven indications
of,due information
The stars missing from being unknown
And the sky no longer will let me pluck
with certain forbidden word combinations
her soft bottom to sleep on,
In case of an impasse
i let my head hit the nearest object
just so i can feel the touch
whereas at other times
i'm as convincing as i may sound..

Happiness

Such great lies
about happiness
have already been said,
that i feel lost not
for words,
but listeners