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poetry

Satish Verma, 27 may 2020

A Grave Question

The bio sheet remains
incomplete.
I am leaving the papers blank.

Singed, as the white coal:
the ash, smudged on eye brows.
I have come to rekindle
the dying flames.

The anger was mine,
scolding the scarf in winter storm,
what was the need to spread the
white sheet?

Like you will not write, an―
apology for kissing a cobra tongue.
It was ok to become a fool?

Where a tear sits on
the edge to fall in silence
for not undoing the hawthorn?

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Satish Verma, 26 may 2020

Armless Salutation

Going within to feel
the war moves.The pagan
gods have come out
on parole.

Was it an esoteric event
to propitiate a violative
divinity? From crude to soft
affirmative nod, I am going to-
see the game of chairs.

Between sin and virtue,
wrong and right, nonage
always jumps into.Too proud to accept
the defeat.First the annihilation
and then the fathering.

This genesis had no design
no vision.A miraculous journey
downhill.The dawn is still
faraway.Nightlong agony
will continue.

Unclenched I hold the pen
to say nothing.

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Satish Verma, 25 may 2020

The Water In Boat

Understanding the poverty
of the earth, the pain,
of the primal tribe,
invoking the god of sky.

In my victory, I was stabbed.
I will go and meet the sea.

You are there, O hunger
of home and peace, mute
as a stone, baked in
sun, waiting for the ripples.

I will burry the blackberries
in dreams, the lips will
seek the silence of a stroke,
when moon walks in unannounced.

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Satish Verma, 24 may 2020

Not A Noble Thing

Poetry of vengeance.
This was not any pulverized
version of new memes, the
digital eating
of the truth.

We are not moving at all.
A hidden rope becomes a rattler,
frightens you from the
narcissistic stupor.

Every day a scam erupts.
The veil remains intact, but the
undercurrent explores the path
to kill you.

There was no music left in
legs. A black window jumps
over the fence. A sharp
sting brings the angina.

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Satish Verma, 23 may 2020

Calamity

In my assets
you blaze.
A past of you in my
future torments the wait.

Lynx-eyed you-
nip the dark.Moon will rise
after awhile.

My kin,
God's untouchables,
were born with hoods.

I am the snow
you melt in nude.The
natural thing, suicidal.

Now the shadows
lengthen.Solar eclipse
was very near.

I am going to drag out
the eternal truth.

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Satish Verma, 22 may 2020

Walking Out

Do not give me a shrine.
Not for me.

A no-name.

Between hollyhock and
rose, I like the
laltern.

I am not a savage,
mangling, the bush.

Happy hormones,
I am coming at peace with me
but no opioid sleep.

Thumbs-up for my failure
to become a joke.

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Satish Verma, 21 may 2020

Will You Admit?

An indecent
exposure. It was not
a game, to kill
a panther, moving
around in search
of prey.

And the basic instinct.

The fundamental trait defict
was between hunger
and ecstasy, between beast
and man.

You will chase a
butterfly, not for pleasure
but to become
an animal.

This was the observer,
and that was observed.

number of comments: 1 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma, 20 may 2020

Now I Speak

Becoming myself,
in the light of a flint, I
come back to retrieve the story,
after the pernicious fall.

Do I tell you the truth
of the doll's death? The damned
shock- after the head
was severed from its body.

The golden leash lies broken
Where your religion
has failed? I am carrying
the wheels of the dirty war
to put on the crumbling walls of peace

Te untouchables.They are
crowding the square.Do you
hear the heart rending slogans?

The borrowed mantras
were fake.Mud in mud, you want
to outlive the dark caves.

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Satish Verma, 19 may 2020

Irrelevantly

To drink the sea,
spilled over
from your eyes was not an easy task.

It was getting
dark, outside.
Inside an eternal flame
of separation
was flickering.

About the consent
of owning
privacy of truth,
I withdraw
my comments.

Now no shroud was needed
to cover the naked body.

number of comments: 1 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma, 18 may 2020

The Definition

Do not
give me a dream.

I will return my name.

There was no arrival
for me. Like wintergreen.

No ending,
no point, no tip.

A continuum
of space, time
and pain.

A stream on blackstone
flowing after the hail,
pellets of frozen tears.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

10 - 30 - 100

Latest items:

poetry

A Grave Question

Armless Salutation

The Water In Boat

Not A Noble Thing

Calamity

Walking Out

Will You Admit?

Now I Speak

Irrelevantly

The Definition

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