# addiction # disapointement # life # heart # truth # suffering # sadness # pain # happiness # empty # mistakes # fate # time # lies # difference # deceit # madness # theone # learninglove #dreams # poetry

""Medical Professional""

Go to the doctor

to take a pill,

go the doctor,

to pay a bill


Go to the doctor,

to get a diagnosis,

go the doctor to

see a "specialist"


All these asshats

with these motherfucking


All these "doctors"

who pimp for the insurance companies


Charge you more and more for less and less,

all these fucking pointless tests,

these sons of bitches who are supposed to help

do nothing but waist your time

and burn your wallet


Author's Notes/Comments: 

Never and ever will trust a ((Doctor))

Iron Lady

Iron Lady comes tomorrow,
Soul against her net.
May to fill my breath with sorrow,
Share with her your wrath.


Keeping on with pressure knocking,
Warning. What you've got ?
May fulfill the lies she's talking ?


...Step away and stop.


Second voice has told already:
Nothing can compare.
Beauty of the Iron Lady -
That's my only pearl.


Beating heart is full of wishes,
Be with her to end.
It's that truth, that she's so precious,
Or i just pretend ?

My Love

MY love,

When we chose to be different,

They made targets of us.

With our cunning and smarts.

We turned their bones into dust.

Fighting is our way of life.

It's how we live.

But I can imagine a world that's much different ,

Based on mutual trust.

If everyone had what we have,

Our undying love and devotion and trust,

We'd see a brand new future.

Much different from,

The world that we have known.

The good walks in silence,

The bad makes a great noise,

May our love stay undying,

And hope for the same,

For the rest.

James Brown

sit and look outside,...

sit and snort a line...like James Brown did

...I feel good, real nice like sugar and spice...

gotta a bad bitch on my side, smiling cause the price is right

Modern day poet, product of james brown

James brown dead...I guess I wear the crown now

slide in my whip

drivin fast to downtown

sip drank, I smoke stank

my weed loud my bitch aint

wear all white in my crib ima saint

smell dis blunt fallout faint

never been a phony or fake

go so hard in the paint,

Michael, go so hard in the paint...




An Unending Sorrow

It's been six months and still no word...

But the thought of you is still so fresh and tender

Everyday feels like a challenge

and most days I just wanna surrender.

We were great together...

Inseparable! most would say

but our bond was tainted and it's

something I pay for every freakin' day.

The sweetness of your voice...

and the softness of your touch, this is what I yearn

But now I'm surrounded by darkness

and living like this is what I must learn.

This unending sorrow is a slow poison coursing through my vein.

It tarnished my state of mind, my body and my brain.

This infection is excruciating for which there is only one cure...

And only you have the antidote that can rid me of this pain.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Hi Peers

I speak from the heart and write with passion.

Please comment. Criticism is much appreciated.

In Search Of Truth

Satish Verma

It was blue and 
red. The rape. 
What would you do in dark? 

The bullet was 
embedded in the spine. 
Still you are walking, 

You have become 
a face, of terror. 
Your eyes, eyes 
tell it all.

Satish Verma

A Spiritual Rage

Satish Verma

The neck pain was singled 
out. Roll yourself down― 
from the hills. The 
figures were crying. 

You cannot dismiss 
the infamous past tense. 
The butchered birthday― 
of freedom of speech. 

The underpaid stone cutters 
of the quarry, and the 
golddiggers crowding the street. 
Whom will you give your hand? 

In glass, the progeny- 
grows, away from home, 
from inheritance. 
I stare in disbelief, unblinking.

Satish Verma


Satish Verma

In blood sport 
you forget to die, disintegrating 
though, cell by cell. 

What an ambience─ 
of human nature? 
You drag the carcass─ 

of mutations whole life. 
Now, selling the virginity 
for charity? 

You build a castle─ 
of mud bricks as a tribute 
to undying love─ 

for the poverty 
of the saint, who had jumped 
into the river.

Satish Verma

What Went Wrong?

Satish Verma

In twilight, 
the noose tightens─ 
and shadows start walking 
towards you; to reclaim 
your anonymity─ 
and declare in deadpan manner: 
the author is dead. 

Your smallness goes 
on sale. You are subjected 
to scrutiny by the small print, but 
the truth escapes from lidless eyes. 

A private punishment. 
There was blood on the knife. 
Why did you write a 
sanguinary poem for your savior today?

Satish Verma