Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 november 2019

Balancing Act

Collecting the dirt,
a speechless drama unfolds.
Now you can hear the―
wails of buried amnesia.
You can touch now the footsteps
where the activist fell.
The gift of bleeds coming
from the saddened past;
the space was expanding―
to accommodate missed abortions.
My limbs giveaway gathering,
the blackberries of moon.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 november 2019

Uninviting Destiny

I would not understand
your fabric, when you come
wearing only smile.
The politics of life was beyond
my poetry. I only have the words
as my wealth. No other assets.
I wanted more space
between the black holes. My earth
needs a rebirth. I am very lonely.
Poison poems. You always
sparred with a family of weighting
heights, which could not touch the sky.
A series of serial killers,
were ready to begin the assault
on the tossing daffodils, deaf, dumb and blind.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 november 2019

Empathy With Tattered Cape

Weep every don.
All the translations were fake.
The yellow peaks do not burn the
sky, now at sunrise.
I am forgetting myself―
in the gathering of my foes.
The pilgrim's path is now dirty.
You cannot transcend the―
dead remains of ancestry. In
the hutment, that was the end of view.
Nightblindness. I cannot fathom
out the saint descending a great depth.
From beastkinds I swim back
to save an unborn epic.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 november 2019

Demanding Answers After The Chemical Attacks In Damascus

I was not afraid of the clock, ticking,
dividing your attention. A guarded
withdrawl of the statement, had
brought a comic relief to the distraught
Caving on guns, the
mustard cloud could wipe out
the entire generation.
The tender bodies
wrapped up in white cloaks,
ready to be sent back
to mother's womb: earth.
Why a sun wanted to
pass out gingerly?

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 17 november 2019


Unshackled, the pallor moon
was lying still, in a white-
shroud of clouds, only face
visible, staring-
down languidly.
I have come afar,
from the whispering dark,
to annul my existence.
Your hands tremble,
carrying your name. The
magic of unsaid-
poems, working.
Life had been a Medusa.
The blues, the reds, the
greens, overbearing.
Scores will be settled
when moon,
goes down.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 16 november 2019

Ancient Echoes

Art of dying
comes, after
you listen to the siren song.
The intention
was to kill yourself,
non-violently, when
moon was hiding.
Man was changing the skyline. You can
redraw the landscape without hurting the grass.
Don't offer to sacrifice
the goat on the rock,
where the shipwrecks took place.
You burn that, what you
would not eat. The
assassination charges were true.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 15 november 2019

Stopping The Wheels

It was a free fall.
A plot seems to thicken.
I would never know.
Perhaps I will not explain,
how the test tube baby
slapped the sky.
The fun of unknowing
the secret of
a cold-blooded murder.
Suddenly the streetlamp
goes off. Night cracks
open to release the animal.
How a godman
becomes a werewolf?
The shadows are hovering.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 14 november 2019


Trying to bring the change
with bleeding silver.
As it is/was, this world.
You may not agree to it.
The release of tension
from the cupped eyes? Will not
alter the secret deal.
There at the hemline,
bodies were scattered, slain
after the trespass.
The royal coin, flexes
its muscle. It will talk
through the muzzles.
Poorest of poor will become free.

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katmata, 12 november 2019

Skaleczony świat

Chciał wszystkiego, ona tylko miłości.
Dwie skaleczone dusze, równowaga gwiazd.
Pytała, on walczył. Dusza czasu jest w nas, 
czego więc szukamy?
Zapalone latarnie, mgła i okiennice,
zakonna cisza, modlitwa dnia.
On dawno zapomniał, ona ciągle w marzeniach,
nie wie co on, na niego czeka żona.
Malowane latawce, smsy bez końca, 
nie wytrzymam tu miesiąca.

number of comments: 1 | rating: 0/1 | detail |

Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 12 november 2019

Endless Yearning

The thirst will know,
the river was there.
To lie on the grass was ultimate.
It was not the green,
it was not the blue,
but desire had the keyhole to look
at the fine sands,
where you stand to find the
elixir of life.
A crackling of joint, awakens
you. You will not wait
for the rains to come and overwhelm
the permeable umbrella.
A fluttering butterfly
knows, how to become floppy
and dangle like a dead leaf.
The stream was
drinking its own water.

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