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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 23 june 2016

Backtracking

Leave something for me to imagine.
A skeleton in a pond
leaps to the moon.

In an air bubble
lies the history of a suspended
name, wasted away on water.

A war is declared on the
family of words, not spoken
to anguish of man.

I thought of my sun
averting a disaster. The sprouts
will not come out of the earth.

An enquiry into the nature of
immanence, leads to starvation.
The body of truth turns into a snake.

The revolution within, shows
a false victory. You start again
from the ugly fingers.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 june 2016

Happy Valley Of Stings

I don’t fake the pain
pain was me.
A grafted rose opens up along the road rage.

This was the city of my birth
my oblivion, my reincarnation
ejaculated from the dark.

Here I found the golden dust
nuggets of truth
and the nostalgia of a broken moon.

The marble white love
and green bowl of arms
a happy valley of stings.

The sun backtracks on hills
when I walk on sands
leaving the deep scars.

A small horizon was my window
hunger of nightingales on branches.
The tree was walking in, my house.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 june 2016

Dust

Creeping in waking night
was fear of fear
and you wanted to accept the defeat
retreat,
It gives you solitude of
blank space, featureless.

The terrorist mask of blazing guns
bribing the absent gods,
for whom you are aiming?

The holy man on road
fakes,
crushing the grass
lilies getting flattened under the giant wheels.

Moving an bloody toes
festering heels
carrying the sacred earth under the nails
all night.
peeling the time, throwing the skn
and waiting
for the dust to settle.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 june 2016

Pick Up The Dawn

He was not him,
today the day ended with a boom,
had walked aimlessly for hours
in half fear and half hope.

Window filters a new moon. It
burns the pillow, wets the glass,
had he kissed goodbye
to the glass house?

Tired of being a dwarf
bridging the gap between hurts and animus.
The truth was only known to the deported.

Smoldering in the cauldron for years
he was never ripe for the plunge;
his kind refused to cling to straw for ever.

Wanted inner shength to stand
against the shots, to read the illegible words
and pick up the dawn from falling stars.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 june 2016

The Healer

An all pin pricks again
draws blood from empty hands
blank papers fly.

Trying to learn Braille
to write a canto
for unseeing Budha.

Unbroken tinnitus violates peace.
night is also blanking the vowels
Pain has become wordless.

Light can only be assumed
fleeing from the moon.
only breeze gives the hint.

The burning grass scrolls back:
there is no healer
in the bush.

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David de la Croes

David de la Croes, 17 june 2016

Winter

in caskets of husks
buried in shallow graves
faint pulses are beating -
waiting on the sun
to flower again

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David de la Croes

David de la Croes, 17 june 2016

Autumn VI

wet shadows
on misty morning -
lonely trees
have cried
all night

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David de la Croes

David de la Croes, 17 june 2016

Glass Flowers

frigid beauty
in brittle showcases -
butterflies sulk

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 16 june 2016

Stones

Thoughts move
like free radicals
at different levels, at different times
to carve, to destroy
to put up their signatures on walls
to seek authority and wealth
to catch the sex and glory,
in perpetual chase.
Miss the shadow of moon,
miss the stars.

Here we go, here we sleep.
Only religion is desire,
only drama is hate.

We will set them on fire,
all the bees
all the wasps.
No insect will live
only us, the human beings.

Arrival of fever
entery of death
we are puppies
we are stones.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 15 june 2016

Mitos And Fanatics

Deceit had a mitotic division, it was spreading;
temporal print on calico.
Possible, had many variations
and masons were existentially tense.

Frank discussion was taking place
between fanatics
to exterminate or allowed to live
shooting stars.

For demolition
you don’t need scrupulous hands.
A giant pain was visible in vibration of sun
leaving footprints on grass.

Paralysed waist down
virginity kindles a prayer,
labial submission of love.
The dead faith stumbles down on climbing up.

Endlessly the war goes
between god and man.
Estranged keys have lost the doors
and walls are crumbling.

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