Satish Verma, 3 june 2018
It was spirit of the time.
The lethal trade of─
missiles, someone was sending free.
You collect the cachet
of bleak weather. The
roses were in bloom.
Trying to conceive the
buttercups in the blue─
frame of melancholia.
I err, and find myself
in sleep after the contact.
A genetic gratitude overwhelms.
You catch the stings
blindly. The other sin will
take care of itself in blood.
Satish Verma, 2 june 2018
After a hard day
a game-changing starts,
igniting the night.
You are buried
in stitches. The wounds
are devoid of blood.
Will you split the─
silence along the words?
There was no awareness now.
A persona
becomes a revolution. The streets
are painted red.
The monument
drifts. You wash the landscape
with moonlight.
Satish Verma, 1 june 2018
That was a pioneer,
lunatic moon,
and me an unwilling partner.
The panther leaps again.
I suffer from
stab to stab.
The giver, sucks,
in genocide.Adoration
becomes a scourge.
One malingerer
leads to another.
The healer was very sick.
My master was a fake
The book was empty
and the print was gone.
Satish Verma, 30 may 2018
A hot body
was a hymn to the night.
I will drink
the moonlight.
In December─
a poem? Words freeze
in full bloom. The
corona becomes blue.
A rose bud breached.
Beast was out.
Satish Verma, 29 may 2018
I love you in poverty of
words;
when you are not seeking
anything.
A dusky strength, self-
deprecating,
holding forth the virtues of
self-denial.
What was the awareness of
a blind?
Of shadows of migrating birds
in moonlight?
Hold my extended arm. May
be you can fall,
looking without eyes in the depth
of the sea.
Satish Verma, 28 may 2018
Drunk at
midnight, playing with
moon squibs.
*
Hearing─
a nocturne, the spirit soars,
when you are drowned.
*
A galaxy
invites me for a night vigil.
Some elixir will rain.
Satish Verma, 27 may 2018
For unspoken answers,
there was always the─
question, why hawks
were needing the peace?
Tied to innate fringes,
I want an explicit display.
The prologue was very
misleading.
War was inside and
outside. Were you a hobbes-
ian? I am not afraid
of death.
Reacted so violently.
The colored shirts should be
taken off. Let us see
the scars!
Satish Verma, 26 may 2018
When the intellect was
defiling the unwritten book;
half-read, you reach for epiphancy.
Why you had to kill yourself
on the swing, before reaching─
the peak? Searching for escape?
I cannot know you, O flame.
Do not go beyond the sky.
My wings twist like nasturtiums.
Last night a city wept in─
my arms. There were no roses─
left and, no cut glass nudes.
They bleed, when you dig
out the roots. The croci were
planted by me when snow had melted.
Satish Verma, 25 may 2018
Your hands were chopped off.
How will you write
the poem now?
*
Truth was─
an alloy. Need to mix some
lie in pure gold.
*
Why did the
roses cry? The saint was
not in the tomb.
Satish Verma, 24 may 2018
Tonight when you deploy
the pillow to block the doors
and the skin fails; a moon
will enter by sealth from
the window in virgin black night.
I will bring forest flames from
where, adoration never stops.
There may be a disconnect─
when you kill the time; yet
turmoil rises with sensuality.
A fluid design appears
in blue dark. There was balka-
nization in the limbs. I grab
the waterfalls, climb the strings
and reach the bliss of a poem.
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