Satish Verma, 1 september 2018
Blending with the light,
as ancients did-
on the leafy path.
You turn your gun-
on an old skull,
with broken teeth,
to rewrite the murder,
without qualms. A sniper
would take an aim.
Untouchable, the years
roll by, sending echos
in the valley of tears.
A final stroke.
The blood stops in the veins
while the angel sleeps.
Satish Verma, 31 august 2018
Crossing the divine,
I ask the marigolds
to return to the dust.
The gods were angry,
and dead would not speak
and the living were dead.
I am now heading towards-
the mute bells, disbelieving-
the great enlightment.
Rebuilding what was not true.
A dream will start telling
the price of the inflicted wounds.
I am not sure:
who were at fault.
The letters?
or the words?
Satish Verma, 30 august 2018
Becoming scattered,
the winged visitors
in my chest.
Is there a home-
for sane thoughts in the jungle-
of unthruths?
How long I will
continue my journey
in search of grass?
Satish Verma, 29 august 2018
Defrosting,
the mutability of homicide.
You were lost in dreams
stoking the protests of eyes.
What were the explicit
suggestive remarks?
A personality disorder for going back
to pyramids and searching the priest?
Embrace the death, who
says. The pavallion was empty.
Game was over and boys had
gone to dethrone the kissed thief.
The questions run, trailing
the path. What was the nature
of this thought, I say when
sky was infinite?
Satish Verma, 28 august 2018
A cherry legacy
and the orange pick.
Let me go wild.
*
Embellishing
the rock, with flowers,
for a golden fruit.
*
A journey, for
the comfort of slopes,
on the clear lake.
Satish Verma, 27 august 2018
The wind was black
and I wanted to make an eye contact
with the unknown.
Following the stars
in midnight-
there was something called
desire, in clean moon,
untying the knots-
in breast. The truth
was not in kernel,
it was in the flowing veins
of the leaves; sun, trapped
in green carbon. The-
wordless poem dousing
the fire between the cinders.
The cosmic door opens, shuts.
The bird song covers your tracks.
Satish Verma, 26 august 2018
Becoming musical
at the end time,
like a whooper's swan.
*
The poet sings
for carnations, when
the snow melts.
*
The secret,
you do not want to share
with death.
Satish Verma, 25 august 2018
The fantasy:
of moving in a circle,
taking a flower bath. A metaphysical
misquote. You were losing
your identity.
There was no abstract folly.
I will protect all the concrete truths.
To find a lover in the woods.
Fighting my demons
I start a circuitry of unborn vows.
The onslaughts continue.
Night comes with all its glory
to torment me, in absence of moon.
Satish Verma, 24 august 2018
The ledge, jutting out
in quivering water.
Moon was sitting underneath, on floor.
*
I will look out-
for a songbird.
Something secret, I wanted to share.
*
I do not abuse anybody,
like a mockingbird-
I make a fool of myself.
Satish Verma, 23 august 2018
It was not easy,
to rewrite a dream poem
when you are bound and hurt.
*
A twiner
looms out, at my window.
Like a face, peeps in.
*
Do not want to tell,
about my sorrow,
before the dried up river.
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