Satish Verma, 20 january 2016
I am asking
who is calling the shots?
The time makes noise,
and silence brings pain.
Years go by.
Night of stars and moon
develops a sonorous dream.
All kinds of brutes and aborigines come to parade
flaunting their arms and ammunition.
Where they are going in veils?
The body of truth is already lying in state.
Magnified eyes stare at micro images
of windows,
through which you could see
long tentacles of an octopus.
Meditation helps for a while,
contradictions arise again.
The empty spaces are being encroached
upon by tall promises.
Satish Verma, 19 january 2016
Clouds had refused to part.
A fractured moon was walking in dismay
stroking the gazing stars.
Cornwhite belonging of ashes was
to fire, beloved sky was enchanted
with water ceremony
as a sign of gratitude to earth.
The wind decided to reverse the clock
and navigate in trees of waxing summer
blowing yellow crystals of sulphur.
A red admiral lands on a lone marigold
with detachment, surveys pollen, pie-eyed,
dangles, tilting a nod, emerges for another sortie.
If there was an action, I think in between:
live with it in fire of mind. The voyage
begins when the song of eternity starts.
Satish Verma, 18 january 2016
You refuse to grow in a grim challenge.
Already the witch-hunt has started.
It was strange to step outside your body
and don’t look at the death
on your doorstep.
Softly flows the dolour in God’s shining eyes.
I have run out my thoughts
my brain wave.
shame to be still breathing.
Starving, I eat the howls
and drink the limbs.
Nowhere green inks writes the passion
A procession of pain
starts in ecstasy.
Your extinct past has entered my body
It shakes and brings tremors
Give me a cup of darkness
I am going to burn my bridges.
Satish Verma, 17 january 2016
After an erotic asphyxiation
on the dirty lips of a game,
I hear an immaculate rhyme
like a whore in a prayer.
A hazy patch descends on eyes.
Night slumbers
and day ends with a bang.
The guests arrives with a gusto
dreaming the end of a track.
Grief stands on a banished spot
My flesh, my soul
mourns in the background.
Fear of an organized orgy
ultimately breaks the heart.
Satish Verma, 16 january 2016
Children of sorrow gnaw into their thumbs.
Nowhere to go
nowhere to sleep.
Something implodes in their ruined minds.
Everyday sun comes with a dream
in summer, when jasmine blooms.
This year winter is going to be different.
A tranquil hand will cover
the sobs of wailing buds.
Backward goes the illusion quickly.
Happiness is bargained for excuses.
Triumphantly the nation moves on!
My blood turns blue in the arteries, Rages
Guilt is writ large on the face. Cannot breathe.
The poverty of words weeps in vain.
How long the fear will reign?
The anger of ephemerility and failed promises
moves absurdly in geometrical people.
Satish Verma, 15 january 2016
While going my way, searching an eternal flame
I confront an extraordinary trauma,
God does not live, but dies in me daily.
There was green pain in this condemned strangeness
as the young world moves on
dancing with joy.
It was not a coincidence
that intellectual anesthesia
was not able to bring good sleep.
So much passes by your city
existential traffic, soaring above arguments,
but a chilled, far away voice
defends the crumbling palace of syntax.
The masks are crying from the split walls
languishing in the hopeless garden.
Wherever you go, the windows are closed
and the smoke rings
rising from the chimneys of dirty homes.
Satish Verma, 14 january 2016
I visualize you all time,
my death,
A beautiful partner of my life
my redeemed ego!
Hate was not showing
its concrete face.
Love has lost the scent
and pshyche is leaving the path
of abstract truth.
Bruised, I loathe to go
in this unbridled ordeal.
Intuition or stupidity?
A spotless dialogue I dream
between fear and courage.
At end,
life can flow quietly
amidst the promises
clasping the peace, at its breast.
Satish Verma, 13 january 2016
Tired of exhibitionism,
nostalgia for an eternal
herd of thoughts -
moves for the real intent
the intensive thirst for unknown.
The lie stamps the vanity on a pseudo book.
Everything turns in a rage,
and pain strips to bone.
Dressed in his gaudy fame,
great idol lifts the arm.
Must I become a part of this motley crowd?
The return is difficult
for the disowned faith.
Great hips, broad shoulders and pointed nose
reach nowhere.
Beneath the disillusion lie the shades
of hope and banality,
to choose a tomorrow
which will never arrive.
Satish Verma, 12 january 2016
Strange it looks,
some one crying on winning a race.
He was o loser and a victor.
After such a long fight,
what is left on a banished field?
broken skulls and roaring laughter,
Everything was crushed under falling snow
of ruthlessness.
And over the fire hangs a skeleton
of past.
The real truth again hides in the
Survivor’s eyes.
There is no witness of any crime.
The court adjournd and the symbolists
rejoice.
Justice has come for a sale.
The highest bidder will get the chair
now
Now will begin the layered aches
in heart.
Satish Verma, 11 january 2016
Dismembering the wreath,
he went on celebrating his own demise.
Shadow had become a white shroud.
He was spitting blood, when slugs,
hit him from behind.
No body remembered his name
We had been dividing the roofs.
My moon and my sky.
I feel my eyes have turned into marbles.
Castaway I float on conscience, with
blemishes, doomed muscle.
Sun and water were baffled.
Raged against the invisible walls
I was breaking my knuckles.
No body knows, who will outbid
whon. I am lying low,
to rise one day
like sphinx,
on the breast of flames.
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