Satish Verma, 24 march 2019
Eyes half-shut, you are seeing,
unseeing to house the failing light.
When the tornado writhes down, will
you come to clean the rubble?
And splash the bird, the sky in purple?
I am afraid of myself
to explore the craft of non-living.
When the silence descends, I will
know myself, like the bone of Buddha.
The words will not give
any relief, whipped into terror.
Satish Verma, 23 march 2019
The knot was broken
from the waist,
as if we were struck
by a bolt.
Thinking must stop.
Violence was there within
the pods, to explode and
eject the seeds.
The silent rape of a
sleeping book. You cannot
tear off the pages,
limb by limb.
You will not read the
past. Would not write
the future. The present roars
through the window starting a brush fire.
Satish Verma, 22 march 2019
After the skin, the corti
were trying to measure the silence
before the cloudburst.
The white noises were
very accurate, disciplined shouts
ready to pull down the stapes.
A cochlear fall from the
great heights of vesuvian peak.
No matter how big was the chasm.
You have given up yourself
to broken stirrups. The planets
begin the dance without the god Apollo.
The road never ends. The
rider stands alone to ride the moon
gliding over the empty sea.
Satish Verma, 21 march 2019
In shadow of the moon, why
an illict bone, indentured
to the spirit of Buddha?
The footsteps were retraced
to find out the angst
of disappearing grass.
The blue eyes must remain
unclosed to print the
image of a pink cloud.
This desperate retraction.
I will not be able―
to write a single poem.
The unholy exit was
damaging the steel of a
proud man, still standing erect.
Satish Verma, 20 march 2019
The wayfarer, searching
for the leaf-pains―
fallen from the lone tree.
Some holy script will
tell the angst of the sap,
which would not reach the roots.
A responsible weep,
will divulge your name to―
forest bees, waiting for the moon.
I watch the setting sun
with trepidation.
Night will bring again, the blasts.
Satish Verma, 19 march 2019
The unthinking begins again
watching a lunar
explosion.
The smallest droplet:
I never had any agenda,
holding on to emptiness.
A dark jumps out at me.
I push the light
forward―
to see your face, O
invisible. Where the road
ends? I want to start
my new journey, unloading
the accumulated wealth
of erudition.
Satish Verma, 18 march 2019
You were collecting the
clocks, to stall
the time; for a pathless journey
to nowhere.
Quietly the colors
start disappearing. Only
a blank void
hangs on the eyes.
The body, is at work
to teach the soul. Fat will
singe the mind. You will
never know, why did you suffer.
My sleep was ordained
to become eyeless. I
will never watch the dreams.
Blind spot snaps out the light.
If I become you, the
freeze will set in.
The blackbirds are
circling.
Satish Verma, 16 march 2019
The póetique listening
to the reason, as foggy
as the past, untelling the
future of midnight onslaughts.
The rain of emptiness, was
playing havoc with the
fiery cross. No orchestrated
withdrawl, I am―
preparing myself for the
supersonic cruise missiles of
vendetta. Golden heart,
you will carve out and eat.
The bluebirds. They had left
unannounced. This summer
the snowy peaks will melt,
for a lone tree.
Satish Verma, 15 march 2019
Treading gently, trying
to feel close to the heat of
the cardinal sins, why
you were not able to take off
your eyes from the
macabre slaughter?
The unknowable instinct.
You abhore, but still want
to see the execution. They
were blindfolded and
were shot at the
back of head.
Decimated. You hold the
globes, making peace
with the wrongdoer.He
will not alter his ego
and why you were afraid to
react?
Satish Verma, 14 march 2019
Like a meteorite streaking
through the sky, iron
and nickel, for a proxy collision
with hidden destiny.
It was the post trauma
syndrome, after the great
divide of breast, lifting
the nipples.
The lofty peak crumbles.
There will be the scare
around, to grow the poppies
on the mounds again.
Are you ready now
for emasculation? The
legacy will, on its own, pass
onto alternative sins.
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