Satish Verma, 12 may 2021
Another―
frozen relationship
between man and beast,
you want to thaw.
The god,
had become uglier
after throwing you―
in pit. Disbelief debates―
why to find the logic?
I wanted to become a period―
after commas and parentheses.
Who was great?
Nobody comes forward―
when you are beheaded amidst
the crowd, which goes into the
applause of life time.
Satish Verma, 11 may 2021
In search of―
lotus flower,
you go in water.
*
The frog croaks,
sitting on
bowl-leaf.
*
A lily with
dark pink flowers
for Buddha.
*
For a lotus―
eater, nothing else
was important.
Satish Verma, 10 may 2021
Autumn sets
deeper, after equinox. The
homesick moon comes close.
*
Was there any hope
beyond the darkness?
My hands are very dirty.
*
What was the maniac
pain of the sea?
No boat wants to sink.
*
Soundless was your
enemy in bush.
Why were you lamenting?
Satish Verma, 9 may 2021
Playing a foghorn
for self-esteem,
is an ego trip.
The white tiger
mauls a cow,
beyond the audio.
You are shrinking―
now at the hands of
unqualified arms.
No need of any
funeral finale. The bones
are as white as the moon.
Satish Verma, 8 may 2021
Let there be dark
in your life.
One day, you will
be able to see the light.
Wind would sleep in the
earthen lamp during day.
Come evening―
tears will light the wick.
Hordes of moth have
resumed their sorties. Any
cruise of moon was
impossible.
Not acceptable was hiring the womb
for manipulating the race. An
eagle dance, brings out the
savagery of man.
Satish Verma, 7 may 2021
Night begins
the self-discovery
with green and cream pills.
A binary existence
you would love to
break the myth.
The wind in the sails,
you are going―
nowhere in darkness.
All colors of―
midnight moon,
were for you.
Time will meet―
you in different masks,
to find the truth.
Satish Verma, 6 may 2021
Begins to reel,
the dusk,
down the street.
The grey moon waits,
solemnly, for the
music of earth to start.
There is enigma―
in dark. You see
the inside of a shut house.
Like the stone
eyes reading the heliograph
of shrunken gods.
Plunged into a gorge
your eyes, to find
the secret of a fall.
Satish Verma, 5 may 2021
The clouds hang on the strings.
I cannot dry my eyes.
Picking up the pine cones, on grass―
one by one, as the years went by.
How did I lose my home again?
Were there not footprints in snow?
The caladiums, you planted in
summer, had the crimsoned spots.
Like the kirmizi sun
dipping in lake one night.
Satish Verma, 4 may 2021
Cessation had no direct threats.
You had stopped thinking.
A shadowy future starts hating
you and your financial motives.
The September light falls on leaves
ready to go, yellow-brown-red.
You are still warm, still receptive
of the hollyhocks to welcome you.
A guiltless flight with singing birds―
homing to their mating abodes.
You want to arrive
without qualms, without fainting.
Satish Verma, 3 may 2021
How will you be defining
a war, when you
meet without machetes?
Between real and fiction
lies a deficient bridge.
We will go for a walk to find―
the weak spots.
A dead city moves in its
entirety. You prepare yourself
to read the tea leaves.
The dregs were in power.
Why you were becoming schizophrenic?
Do not blow at the dead sparks.
How long the shadow now
you want to throw?
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