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poetry

Satish Verma, 7 september 2020

Parting The Ways

Like wounded tiger,
going for last innings.
Like Orpheus listening
to water, without looking back.

Will not entrance you
any more, under the moonscape,
getting light from
the nightingale.

Finding the passage of
sunrise, I will wait for you
to come last time-
for a goodbye.

Trembling like aspen
leaf, to steal your aura
in moonless night, when Milky Way
will spread the diamonds.

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Satish Verma, 6 september 2020

This Universe

The spirit was not there
under the skin-
in grey domain.
I will not seek any revenge on self.

The defeat was my solo passage.
I am still searching
myself in the crowd.
More than enough, I had my share of hurts.

Talking of the innocence
of a womb, when you were not
born. The steel in your hair
and empathy in your tongue.

A wandering sage will
not love the fall of night.
You see better in twilight. The
shadows give an illusion of angels.

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Satish Verma, 5 september 2020

Self-Infliction

This was a perception defict
when only a suicide could stop you.
From where to where we
Have come in traumatized stake.
Black tongues always ruled. No
rite of passage, where money changers
speak. How will you cover yourself now?

Feminized, the dance of wolves.
Do not throw the chunks of flesh
in arena- for hubris will
bring the nemesis.

The flint makes a pledge.
When the red rains come and
overwhelm the innocent earth,
we will make the tools again.

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Satish Verma, 4 september 2020

A Guilt On Trial

Like a blood sport
you play with me.
My thumb bleeds.

Cannot be salvaged.
You are put on display
like lamb meat..

Jealousy will ultimately win.
Uncoupling has started.

The betrayal hides
under the lids.Side by side
are laid the golden chips.

Now you liberate the unbeliever.
One day the avalanche will bury the rings.

Let's not go back to the
sordid details of relative truths.
I only wanted to to prove that
I was wrong.

Knees broken, I will walk.

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Satish Verma, 3 september 2020

Feeding Silkworms

Living in a different
reality. You wanted to confuse
the honeybees. They were dying in large
numbers. There was frantic search
for the skullcaps. Power
of the crowd was on display.
The stingers were on prowl.

Again the mountain
slips. The terrain becomes pathless,
placeless. So where to sit with a mirror?
A tulip garden has arrived
for inquisition. Are you ready
to surrender your cloaks? The
public servants will make an inventory.

The day dreaming does not stop.
I wait. The best is yet to come.

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Satish Verma, 2 september 2020

Sitting Alone

The shallow incursions
grow louder. I have
burnt my fingers, lighting
the moon.

The future of currency
was changing hands. You
start bargaining for-
the water, the air.

Armageddon: will it take
place in the modern times?
Where are the titans
and the hill?

It slows the search for
the truth. The mudslide was
rising and the buried will
not speak, at peace with themselves.

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Satish Verma, 1 september 2020

Wasting Of Faith

Annihilating your
own minarets to meet
the god once.

Little time left to make the score.

The climbdown has started
absolute and final.

The methane was
spilling out.You need a matchstick.

Awful.You cannot see
the kitchen fire.Where was
the sanctity?

A noble cause.Dousing
the flames, to leave a naked
body of truth.

Don't split the hearts.Only
give the shrouds.Faces
must not be seen

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Satish Verma, 31 august 2020

Compressed Emotions

I had met the flower
after a longtime.
The rose.

And its fragrance
hauls me to childhood
after the big dying.

A tender, scented dream
will touch me,
to become a poet.

Lying on dewed grass
you think, a promiscuous
microbial libido begins.

The explosion will eject
free verses, waiting in silence-
to witness- the April fall.

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Satish Verma, 30 august 2020

The Exit

The sleep was disturbed.
A book reads me.
The thinker will not rest in the arms
of Morpheus.

There is no road. You will
walk in the kitchen for the last supper.

A scream in the throat
dies. I have no soul. The night
looms large. I will not surrender
my pen.

Unquenchable thirst
was me. My head in a spin,
I go beyond the words,
to find the clapping hands.

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Satish Verma, 29 august 2020

I Will Not Come Back

Let me paint a still life.Like
your eyes- unmoving.The irises
with shut pupils.

Why I should be green-
I ask my old mentor?

The terror of a smile
wipes away the tail of dust, with comets.

And the pachyderm remains
buried in the sands of time.

Touching the margins was gone.
You cannot leap over the grass of antiquity.

In fog twin hills will move away
without any acrimony.

A denial becomes a stake
a part of the golden ring- the boundary mark.

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10 - 30 - 100

Latest items:

poetry

Parting The Ways

This Universe

Self-Infliction

A Guilt On Trial

Feeding Silkworms

Sitting Alone

Wasting Of Faith

Compressed Emotions

The Exit

I Will Not Come Back

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