Latest items:

poetry

Satish Verma, 16 february 2024

Nothingness

The orphan asked
grim reaper, do we live
after the death?

Does the creator
also dies to beborn
again to regret?

Were you loyal
to humanity? What was
religion of god?

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Satish Verma, 15 february 2024

Sometimes I will
miss you badly. You won't cry
easily unashamed.

Legacy of stairwell?
Wanting peace? Dying was
beautiful. Don't go.

When the words quit
your lips would move noiselessly
silent holocaust.

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Satish Verma, 13 february 2024

Not I Not You

Nothing to put in
words. You had placed
ampersands between
the names.

The subject you
wouldn't give up in summer
sun.The wars and moon walk.

One small hole
in the sleeve of Grim Reaper
ready to burn the house
of an angel.

One day you will
come back from odyssey
empty-handed. The
hummingbird had left the nest.

The game was not
yet over. The prophet
waits at the gate to welcome
dervish coming bare foot.

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Satish Verma, 12 february 2024

Deceiving Self

Learning the art
of dying, cheating the ghosts,
talking to moon children.

Will you believe in
so much of death? An
octopus darting on sands?

In self-awareness
you look at the vast water.
The lake will accept you.

Aimlessly you want
to drift. A sick feeling takes
revenge and turns you into stone.

Somebody smiles.
Flickers like a candle,
before shutting down the beats.

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Satish Verma, 11 february 2024

I Go Outside Me

Supernova of love.
The black light. Was it a biographical
trauma to pay the respect way too far?

Beyond the truth, was
I there? I need not hunt the
gods to show me the human tragedy.

Is it the necessity to
follow the eternal faults? Wouldn't
become a subject to understand life.

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Satish Verma, 10 february 2024

Absolute Being

Transparency.
Where were you in dark,
in my intense moments?

A lonely spirit will
try to meet you
in blue moon.

Wading in shallow
waters, you speak slowly
to defend depth of pain.

The absolute
becomes nude. There was
no limit to draw the blood.

Uncensored, I
set up the stage for a
guillotine to punish sun.

It was a bright
sun day. The bells
will not ring.

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Satish Verma, 9 february 2024

Silver Moon

What an artifice. The
invisible becomes visible. I am not
what you are. That was Arte Povera?

When violence erupts
you won't stand like praying mantis,
waiting for a self portrait in an innocent pause?

As like Cleopatra, you
suspend in air like a hummingbird
asking, what would be the next terror without blood?

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Satish Verma, 7 february 2024

Believing In Myths

Wanted to dip my
pen in light and draw
your face in golden lines
on dark clouds.

The time announces the
arrival of spirit. You land
like butterfly, on the
lips of voila for seconds
and fly away.

But you did not come
to say goodbye.

The bell tolls for
no one. Nobody dies today
to celebrate the departure
of death― gracefully.

I lived dangerously.

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Satish Verma, 6 february 2024

Where Do The Sprits Go?

Disappointed.
I look at my hands to
read your destiny.

I fall to kiss the
moon dust. You were
my desire in sleep.

The spirit hovers
like the golden eagle
to rest the talons.

I stop the game.
Some cards had remained
undealt. I win, I lose.

You were not the
angel. You were not the mortal.
Where do I put my relief?

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Satish Verma, 5 february 2024

I Was Unknown

Between ethics and
ethos, your truth is very sad. The
pierced rose bouquet bleeds.

Like fawns in a blood
room. I don't know how to treat
life, when you are impersonal.

The art of annihilation
is known to everyone. Naked as blue
whale. The sea horse always stands.

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Latest items:

poetry

Nothingness

Parting

Not I Not You

Deceiving Self

I Go Outside Me

Absolute Being

Silver Moon

Believing In Myths

Where Do The Sprits Go?

I Was Unknown

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