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steve

steve, 22 october 2021

"Never To Love Again"

How do I tell my heart, never to love again...
To let go of my dreams, to never touch your skin,
To never breath you're fragrance, you're intoxicating scent...
That renders me a slave, to whatever you're intent,
How do I tell my mind, that you're no good for me...
Pain is not the answer, because we disagree,
How do I let go, of the reason my heartbeats...
As my every waking thoughts, are of you beneath my sheets,
Why should I even care, when you don't care at all...
As once again this broken heart, takes another fall.
To never see you again, to turn and walk away...
To know the words we speak, are the last we'll ever say,

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 22 october 2021

Beginning Of Voyage

A fear stalks you
in the dead city of broken paths.

If god wills.
Listening to truth in golden dawn
you become a stranger.

Where you want to stand
between far-right
and far-left?

I relapse into grief.
Who was not a god….?

Between you and me
what was missing?

Brotherhood?

The silence was heavily
pregnant. No one speaks.

Give me a chance
to look at me.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 october 2021

It Happened Once

You wanted to possess me
and I sought to
drink the stars.

An optics? Tears and
blood. Lynching. I
ask the moon, have
you ever been kissed?

You hold my hands
and laugh, heartily,
throwing back your thick, black
interlaced braid.

The radical, retrograde…
white space in between, I
watch the falling snow, covering
my thoughts with silverberries.

This was the unspoken,
untying love between a mortal
and a celestial being!

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 october 2021

Ambiance

Trying to face fiction,
poetry was falling apart
between the glasses.

Telltale signs betray
ghostwalking of the black stones.
Sculptor coming up.

Moonrise will decide the
fate of lovers. Nobody was
ready to tie the knot.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 october 2021

Snowblinks

Scythe of a moon
swings, between tall
palm leaves.

Wanting to see
the midnight fall
of white snow.

Never felt the
sadness of cold weather
when flurries fly.

Leaves had
assembled at the
funeral of the moon.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 october 2021

The Blame Game Begins

The trauma gives me a
severe jolt.
The paper nest of
wasps remains unbroken.

There was an ethereal
feel. One outwardly thought.
We should be ready for
a final war.

Between words and deeds
the religion was expanding.
River of blood was becoming
thick. Can you walk on the
frozen bodies?

The title of the substory
changes. Every executioner
had a deep hurt inside.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 16 october 2021

Behind The Brick Walls

Winter is round the corner.
A single dew drop―
cedes a concession to tall trees.
Watchers of virginity
will stay to freeze the fidelity.
Eyes will not let fall
the blood tears.

You were not reading
your mind, skipping your mantra
of departure, behind the
curtain. The winter takes revenge.
Not a single leaf will
follow you, when the blaze
rages in the eyes of moon.

Listen my love. Story does
not end here. Deep within is purple
band. Win or lose, you
will walk on the stings to mutate
the pain of amputation. And
I will paint a fallen
bo tree unfinding a Buddha.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 15 october 2021

The Dead Don't Care

I grope, I fumble.
I do not seek
any death.
You will divide,
my body, my soul.

Concealing a double
of god, you disappear
in zero visibility.

The bullets,
the knife.
Will they break the pride
of defying the norms?

The nonviolence speaks
from podium.
Hate breeds hate.
Would you drop the weapons
for enemy?

A rose will say I don't know.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 14 october 2021

The Dead Don't Care

I grope, I fumble.
I do not seek
any death.
You will divide,
my body, my soul.

Concealing a double
of god, you disappear
in zero visibility.

The bullets,
the knife.
Will they break the pride
of defying the norms?

The nonviolence speaks
from podium.
Hate breeds hate.
Would you drop the weapons
for enemy?

A rose will say I don't know.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 13 october 2021

What Now

Locating the perceived
footprints of moon―
in my dark house.

My homegrown precision
brings the weird
calligraphy alive.

Now the execution
begins in rose beds. Out from
nowhere come the missing thumbs.

You kill in broad daylight
all the dreams of
feathery morning. I―

start climbing the
violence to reach the eye
of hate and enmity.

A god a day becomes
my natural love. Would we be
meeting daily?

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