poetry

poetry
Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 12 july 2020

Trembling Daffodils

The snow:
Pounding the earth, trees
the man.
Centuries of hunger repeat the
raven's walk on icefield.

The drum beats again.
The cold war tapping
at your doors. Missiles made
ready to fly.

The rhyme comes back to
weave the funeral song.
Blood curdles, as you step up
the agony.

The stings, the venoms,
the blue veins. The murderers
were ready to-
receive the gifts.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 11 july 2020

Going Wastough

Less likely to be a truth,
let's celebrate the healing touch
of a hidden god.

It was an absolute
invasion, but I did't believe
in any war.

Timeless quest for the-
elixir of life and enigmatic
divinity.Answers were
always fragile.

I want none of your books.
In humbling pride I will
find my own solution.
Life was a question.

No birthdays.
Rolling thoughts- need
no sermons.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 10 july 2020

Eyes In The Bowls

You become absent in
repose..I try to rein in the
subterfuge in stranger's eyes.
There was nothingness. A chestnut
tree was refusing to let go
the nuts.

The phantom fight begins between the
daffodils. The sun had given
the borders, step by step, to
different colors. Still the bloom
weeps for its blindness. I will
not unmake me. The faith―

this winter was bad. The
deathmarks were evident. We
wait for something to happen,
ready to unroll the schizophrenia.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 9 july 2020

Mannerism

Bigotry, is that you with
the lost numbers?

Looking back, will not
light the road.

I could not haul myself
out, of the kitchen, of narrative.

Something makes me jittery,
counting my failures. You revert back
to the caravan.

After the love. The lines
burn and you set aside the goal―

of becoming free from writing off
the man.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 7 july 2020

Deeply Upset

The dark borders
were shifting, rejecting
the inner voices.

The echoes bring apocalypse
with costs. I hear
the silent prayers.

de jure? I want
to letter the unknown fears
of the epilogue.

The whistling pain of the
words, brings
the blood flowers.

Aghast, at the cupidity,
of man, where shall
I start the charity?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 6 july 2020

Death Was Growing

This was profanity.
A dead club moss resurrects,
when you sprinkle the water over
dried wrinkled leaves.

From darkness to light
you break the bowl of an angel
and the invisible spills out.

Brother in terror -
of mixed turbans.You smell
the burning flesh all around.

Speed of light from superflares
was not colossal, than the blast of man.
Look, it is still dark here..

Now climb the holy
hills, rising like the breasts
of weeping earth, to collect
the daisies for final call.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 5 july 2020

Impromptu

You can legitimate
the loot. There will be no
spineless resistance.

The skull cap only covers
the baldness hiding
the keratinized skin.

The lust shines
like pearls on your upper lip.
Beehive.

Poking the rabbit
before it jumps, you will
remember the ducks have no ears.

Ah, the learned
professor, he has started
teaching the full lips.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 4 july 2020

This Living Death

Oh, templed god, why did
you snare the palmer?

The importance of being
the autonomous? I am trying to
stay away from me to keep
a watch on you.

The itinerant sorcerer had
become a legate of gold trade.

The flesh is for sale, the
small mouth with big hunger.

A fledging of scar has become
a bleed. The synopsis was out.

I am going to ask some question
from the bo tree today.


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


Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 4 july 2020

This Living Death

Oh, templed god, why did
you snare the palmer?

The importance of being
the autonomous? I am trying to
stay away from me to keep
a watch on you.

The itinerant sorcerer had
become a legate of gold trade.

The flesh is for sale, the
small mouth with big hunger.

A fledging of scar has become
a bleed. The synopsis was out.

I am going to ask some question
from the bo tree today.


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


Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 4 july 2020

This Living Death

Oh, templed god, why did
you snare the palmer?

The importance of being
the autonomous? I am trying to
stay away from me to keep
a watch on you.

The itinerant sorcerer had
become a legate of gold trade.

The flesh is for sale, the
small mouth with big hunger.

A fledging of scar has become
a bleed. The synopsis was out.

I am going to ask some question
from the bo tree today.


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



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