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Satish Verma, 10 january 2016
Whole Truth
Let it be as such,
my long cut tear,
Do not dramatize the wound
and put it as an exhibit.
No attempt should be made to mask the fated pain.
Wait for me at the end of the road.
Not for me,
I grieve for the fallen trees, tall glory of past.
It was a question of survival.
Survival of the best, which could not continue.
There is reversal of equatization.
Man has become superior to god.
They are using Him, I am afraid.
Urging him to commit a natural suicide,
a logical ending of a patriarch.
The stage is set for a mass mourning.
A big conspiracy had been brewing
in prisoner’s cell,
which had been in full possession of
whole truth.
Satish Verma, 9 january 2016
A Home In My Home
Messengers are out,
dynasty strikes.
A haze of dust storm filters down in tearless eyes.
Not caring, not grubbing my inward eye.
I am becoming blind.
A white moon starts bleeding
under the weight of wingless stars.
You never said,
I never heard the rich voice within
the rocks. A tale went to asylum.
we trembeled under the trees, listening to war drums.
Totems were incoherent. Temples were mute.
I am nude in my wounds,
cannot raise the hands, cannot hurt anybody.
A swallow has made a home in my home.
Satish Verma, 9 january 2016
A Home In My Home
Messengers are out,
dynasty strikes.
A haze of dust storm filters down in tearless eyes.
Not caring, not grubbing my inward eye.
I am becoming blind.
A white moon starts bleeding
under the weight of wingless stars.
You never said,
I never heard the rich voice within
the rocks. A tale went to asylum.
we trembeled under the trees, listening to war drums.
Totems were incoherent. Temples were mute.
I am nude in my wounds,
cannot raise the hands, cannot hurt anybody.
A swallow has made a home in my home.
Satish Verma, 8 january 2016
Falling Apart
A surreal religion comes, straight to altar.
The doubts shift, organise the intolerance.
Life looks deceitful and modesty goes awry.
The craft, the art, the maneuvering become sexed.
Sperms gauge the pathway.
The beauty of empty mind,
always delivers an eclectic music.
We search our hearts, the bared silence.
The death was creeping,
within the seeds and,
we were counting digital roses.
The pinnacle of vision was crumbling.
You squat on the cinders of untruths,
it was powerful dementia.
The denial of fire,
was your timeless perception.
The brain had ruined,
the realm of hard truths.
We were falling apart behind the curtains.
Satish Verma, 7 january 2016
Non Real
My brothers killed me for a song
an antithesis to kiss for a chaste tree.
I hold my viscera in cupped palms.
Their eyes burn like flaming windows.
An evening primrose smiles at my stupidity.
Questions have no full stop, I grieve.
Why did they punish me, for my lone voice?
I die daily amidst the barbed
Hawthorns for the sake of posterity.
The ribbed cage of desolation, in the kingdom of potencies.
The innocence drops like,
a terrified mirror on floor.
Death will obliterate, the lights from blue eyes.
I adored a dream, which always stayed in shadows,
The moon will grab a cloud,
creating a music of eternity.
The non-real will become a solid absolute.
Satish Verma, 5 january 2016
System
It was a fractured miscarriage.
The system groaned like a huge cow.
We milked her till human thirst chopped the teats.
I belong to no glamour,
my faults burn like classics.
Total freedom will come
when I am through.
The dates creep under the skin, I faint,
The tiny minims shine on my lips.
The symbols crash.
Me and my shadow bubbling with
the smell of poems,
I come back to arguments.
To justify the Armageddon
of first & last love.
How could it happen?
The fear has death, as a lover.
I sleep with it every night.
The demolition of memory, it sweats like a black cloud.
There is no religion in desires,
choiceless destruction of each dawn.
Satish Verma, 4 january 2016
Path Of Destiny
The questions haunt
the genes who could’t stay
in flesh and a womb.
A winter moon picks up
the forgotten trail.
Night slaps a white cloud on my eyes.
A face swims on a lake.
A splash of color.
A yellow leaf falls
on the path of destiny
the moon enters a tree.
Burden of arithmetic shifts.
I take a break from my pain.
A star twinkles hesitantly
outlines a shadow.
I watch a violet flame.
The fear sprints.
I run towards a non-truth
Revenge of love overwhelms,
journies to zero pain.
Inward window opens to more queries.
Life revisits, ignites the dark spaces.
Intimate trust melts like lava.
Satish Verma, 3 january 2016
Holding The Poems
The moon scrambles on
the fragrance of the trees
I think of humility & grace.
think of the secret of death,
honey of life and survive
by holding the poems.
I will ask myself
not to invent the echo of tomorrow.
In my aloneness
I watch the dancing of words,
the white tract of thoughts
without thinking. There are
no holes in heart, still the
numbers build the nest.
The abstract arguments of depression.
Lull before the explosive creation.
Movement of grief
is footfall in dark night.
We always blamed the self image
without perfecting our contents.
Liberating self from
bare hands was the theme.
We could bring the screaming moon
to rest upon our souls.
Satish Verma, 2 january 2016
Shifting Sands
Using me,
I take a refuge in desire.
‘Seeing act’ strangulates.
I suffer in the mists of defeat,
there is no evidence.
One attachment catches the conflict.
The fading light of moon burns my pillow,
transcripts impenetrable theme.
Conceiving a problem
in the shifting sands, life seeks
a view of words and enjoys the discreet
meaningless movement.
We play the game again & again,
feed our egos. Study the sorrow
and give charity to the torn flags
of pride and hunger.
The fear does not end,
the looking does not stop.
Each answer leaps to a grief.
The chronicle of squeezed holocaust.
we were hurting each other
humming a song.
Violence of non-violence was more evident.
Satish Verma, 1 january 2016
To Go Back
Let me think without thoughts
to measure the mind, feel the crunching of words.
Time to know the meaningless life.
A flock of sufferings; they were all over
and I was looking at me.
In deep sorrow to go back into myself.
Where were you
in the forbidden void of silence?
The fountainhead drops the legends.
The effort to shift the truth is painful.
I am baffeled by the blinks of lies.
Nothing appears to be real.
Wounds transcend the flesh.
Here I am to feel the blindness of fate
the collapsed roofs of faith,
will discover a new god.
Dry and bright speech
describing the healing touch.
I refuse a diminutive role
of firewood to zip a smokeless fire.
Latest comments:
22 july 2025
violetta
To chyba Egipska:)
22 july 2025
Miły sposób opalania, zwłaszcza fajnie ukryć
22 july 2025
jeśli tylko
melodyjnie, muzycznie :)
22 july 2025
Chyba musze dać większe zdjęcie, nie sprawdziłam,
22 july 2025
ajw
Piękny, kołyszący kawałek :)
22 july 2025
Faktycznie, nałapało się trochę światła
22 july 2025
Pięknista i apetyczna :)
22 july 2025
sam53
promienie wpadają prosto do dzbanka ... jest
22 july 2025
Belamonte/Senograsta
skądś znam
22 july 2025
jest się czym rozkoszować
22 july 2025
ruda nad morzem
21 july 2025
ale te tutaj to nawet wampiry ofiary, marzyciele,
22 july 2025
wiesiek
22 july 2025
ajw
21 july 2025
ajw
21 july 2025
wiesiek
20 july 2025
wiesiek
19 july 2025
wiesiek
19 july 2025
ajw
18 july 2025
wiesiek
15 july 2025
wiesiek
14 july 2025
jeśli tylko