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Satish Verma, 31 december 2015
Claim For Fame
The journey is brutal when you arrive nowhere
striving for unsaid perfection.
Life drips. Your wounds snap the love.
A tale becomes a twister.
Between the blinds is buried, the window. In dark
a depression fills the room.
The untethered loneliness.
Fearing from self.
A time to become insane without anchorage.
My ruined book becomes a home for spiders.
Bewildered dreams rise like vampires from the skull.
I will not mourn the body.
The spirit walks like the white light.
It was a thwarted desire, to die empty-handed
beside the troubled mind.
Was there a path to truth?
Being, what lies are?
The soul rustling the shadows of mortal thoughts.
The tree finally gives up
the claim for fame.
The roots squirm.
Satish Verma, 29 december 2015
The Habitat
Will not show my wounds, life extracts a price.
A heap of pain, squeezed into eyes
hits me with daily bread.
Draws the conflicts
and sets the fears free.
A half moon wipes my tears.
Destiny clings to dust
Phoenix is rising.
Ruthlessly, night causes pain
freedom is in peril.
The soul sings in a withering tone,
for the departing stars. Yellow,
youthful light of rising sun
burns the desires.
We hate the soaring choices
there is no end, no beginning.
My non-self opposing
the empty life, connects
the heart with contents of sorrow.
It fills up the nothingness.
I perceive a spring of forgotten grass,
engaged orchards and laughing fires
in the buds. Time for
the habitat to step in.
Satish Verma, 28 december 2015
Non-Story
Questions are the answers
and answers are the questions.
They never die. The words
collect the dripping wounds.
Memories emmigrate to wasteland
and the city drowns in a lake.
Our infallible pride has no challenge
trust the precarious teeth.
Beyond eloquence life drifts
from unknown to unknown.
A fruitless search in a grey winter
of thinking trees. Tall,
beautiful, but faith has taken a U– turn.
The span of obscurity
reflects a twisted wisdom
burning the books of tomorrow.
The fear, depression
and brutal game of corruptible views
I deal with a non-story
of cultivated meditation.
The duality of hate
and love, bread and hunger.
I stand on a quicksand
to balance the beach
and find the missed links.
Satish Verma, 27 december 2015
Anniversary Of Flirtation
Imitating the waves,
I try to end the attachment
touching the shores,
then moving away.
Search for eternity erases
the designs. Birth
and death cling together.
I let go the passion,
the deviation of fear.
There cannot be two lives.
When the illusion meets
the pain, truth laughs,
I forego my future,
tear the past and burn the present.
Failed life hangs on
the silence of sorrow.
Names don’t hold any charm
they come & go. Days
dropp like long coats
I search the night.
The desperate seeking
will not end the journey
It is there in the dark hole of the heart.
A pitless gloom.
I am afraid to be revealed.
Art of life is scissored,
Anniversary of flirtation
with death forgotten. We celebrate.
Satish Verma, 26 december 2015
Without Bargaining
A view from the cause,
alters the landscape in you
I surrender to the earth,
the roots. Purifying the leaves.
I tell myself, this was not me,
my music. Still my skin
has the tattoos of pandemic deafness.
I am breathing through the lips.
My attachment to death
is a private affair
my voice lies in a lake.
The butterfly in a womb.
the psalms under the rocks.
Is it ending of death
or death of ending?
I go beyond the brink,
dropp the stone in water.
When the moon touches
my eyes, like a kiss
I start sharing the menu of night.
The rimless thoughts are hovering
like small birds. I listen
to their flappings.
Can we live without bargaining?
Do you know the price?
Satish Verma, 24 december 2015
Immovable
Unfolding the dark night,
quarter moon shrinks
The bitterness of the day,
cave weird taste,
burning the tongue.
You didn’t want to live,
anymore. Roots lopsided,
starved. Age, language slashed,
mist rising. Names in the dust.
The ending was not there
sorrow burnt like candle
burning the meaningless words,
dreams, I hear the silent whispers
of wounds of faltering steps,
doubting the pain. Beyond
the age tales were endless.
Watching became a problem.
Nothing could be redeemed
by choice. I wanted
endless journey to find
the windows. long steps
towards immovable cliffs,
my own version of anonymity
and grace. Because glorification
has started the fear,
the escape and suffering.
Satish Verma, 23 december 2015
Mud Path
Non-eye vision penetrates.
The silent song trembles
I weave a pattern
to resolve the crisis
the escape to white
space was useless.
The ending of sorrow
was a movement on circuit
the center has started vanishing.
Thinking was preventing
the completeness of self.
A single flower is answer of nature.
The echo of pulsating memories.
the landscape is full of quotations.
No one reads. Denials
and evasions want more attention.
A new road enters the body
on the edge of a prayer
infinitely small, a handful of vowels
sailing in my mind,
give powerful eyes to faith.
The abstracted meaning
leaves a sweet taste in mouth.
I lay out a mud path for the reader.
Satish Verma, 22 december 2015
Celibate
Standing on a cliff
holding the hand of a tall tree
the wind said –
I am going to die in few minutes.
Moon was laughing.
In elements of air and fire
a deity was in burns.
Who had the déjà vu?
Sky was wearing white.
A divine mushroom was going to fail.
A purple wart is growing
along the innocent neck.
The colossal death of hungry strangers
is going to go in waste.
“Being” was truth, but conditioned to lies.
King was wearing an amethyst
watching a marathon.
A single sperm will win
to enter a paradise,
for the sake of a celibate.
Satish Verma, 21 december 2015
Pause
Pursuit of a desire
in the middle of philosophizing
life was an absurd idea.
I was drawing a relationship
between reality and death.
Learning from destruction brings a pause,
holding the hyphenating truth.
The energy flows in voices
of charity under the flowering words.
When you slur over a depreciation.
no one knows a bias.
The bridge was incomplete and walls were high.
The decay spilled out of the house, removing rotten beams.
The first and last economy
of throat sinks in
the mud of heavy propaganda.
It was not exactly a storm,
only hollow drums
beating for the drifting night.
The blood drops falling
on the moonlit earth.
The questions remain unanswered
who were the killers
of prophets and saints?
Who had changed the flesh?
Satish Verma, 20 december 2015
Another Blossom
The eye within the eye
of a soul is tranquil
but the storm is raging.
Around the body, the cluster of names.
Father and mother,
brothers and sisters,
I am refugee in my home.
I steal glances over the western sky,
a blue star beckons.
Ambition was a small
city in twinkling night
a pilgrimage of amazing nothingness.
My heartaches for the missed
happenings. The decay was inevitable.
The flight of swans continued.
The memories of flowers
had a funeral for me.
Death was ready to strike
eyeball to eyeball, I refuse to gratify
One long vigil was still
incomplete, ash & flame
will break the distance.
Today a song will rise
from the ruins.
I will wait for another blossom,
another voyage to dreams.
Latest comments:
23 july 2025
violetta
Takie lekkie nasze życie:)
23 july 2025
Belamonte/Senograsta
motyle na ścieżkach odlatuję i przysiadają czasem
22 july 2025
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
skądś znam
22 july 2025
jest się czym rozkoszować
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