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Satish Verma, 17 november 2015
Wailing Windows
Face of terror was
chasing you in the dreams and
voilence made you sick of the
evil designs.
We must unpack our grief.
Hurts were huddled under the smiles;
times were stypefying.
I grieve for the dead
prophet, spread – eagled on road.
It had been a memorial death
fighting the ugly machinations
the days had planted.
A calculated murder of mighty truth
had taken place.
Again a flaming head
seeks revenge
violence does not cease.
The greed was the essence.
The town was full of howling.
There was civil war amongst
the wailing windows.
My heart aches,
I did’t belong to this
profile of naked wolves.
Satish Verma, 16 november 2015
To Laugh Or To Weep
When the night was swamping him
with epileptic frame
he was walking without limbs.
The awakening was painful.
Drinking his own blood
breaking his own bones.
This largesse was tempting.
No guaranteed death,
you will live with grenades.
Grief was priceless.
Only nightingale will exercise
for the fallen miracles.
He declared at incendiary pyre
to become a phoenix
which never was.
It was an ethical question
to laugh or to weep.
Man was made unmade.
Satish Verma, 15 november 2015
Seasonal Priorities
Effortlessly a desire erects
a monument. One flaw
demolishes the image. Stones,
ugly grass & a solitary tree
make the landscape.
Hundreds of seeds go back
to the earth’s womb, never
to sprout. Heartbroken
I stand in the middle
of life, crumbling alone.
How can we change?
A splash of green
ingests a scissor,
that is not enough. A parallel tragedy
strikes. Sun and flowers
are gone, seeking a truth,
not yet conceived. A timeless
fire burns in the temple,
uncovering the heat,
edging towards us.
Freedom from long falls comes,
bit by bit in degrees.
Suffering remains the same.
We immortalize our smears.
The absolute truth
suddenly becomes a lie.
A myth which balooned
our minds. But brutal
sunlight has seasonal priorities.
Satish Verma, 14 november 2015
Stared Blankly
We don’t want to
see each other naked.
with our barbs.
Seeking the truth outside
our body was painful
we don’t want to change
the clouded mirror of water.
The desires were unlimited
and restoring the metaphor needed time.
For contributing for the unbroken becoming.
I held the water in my palm.
It dropped like ciphers
on the hot earth subtracting the charm.
We knew each other,
still falling ego was always revengeful.
My empty hands would seek another title.
A solitary ingredient made the old song.
Few will remember the wings and sky.
The anger’s haste had mauled the body.
Day after day false claims
were made to regain the soul.
The search for the sacred
will remain futile
I stared blankly.
Satish Verma, 13 november 2015
Sunrise
The decline was steep.
Somewhere the clouds burst in tears.
Sitting on the flat prejudice
we weaved a gift of poison for everyone.
It did not stain our shirts.
The big fat people moved about
with great confidence to change the world.
I suffered inwardly.
Perhaps the greed drank
from our passions.
A spectre of hounding.
Which never stopped.
My parents knew better,
always talked of comportment.
Llike our love for neighbours.
The turmoil drifted now in our hearts.
A self-potrait became
the vehicle of death
I visited myself,
to wind up the matters of concern.
The graffiti on the abandoned
walls of memories erased
time, altered the wounds,
and trembling shadows.
Sunrise will provide me a lesson.
Satish Verma, 12 november 2015
Nameless Intruders
Fear swooped on extended mind,
when brain was never silent.
I was never alone,
voices broke all around.
The lead became kinky.
For sometime, I escaped into antiquity for,
a surrogate relief.
The clock prowled for
the graffiti of truth in night.
A programmed psychology
look extra-terrestrial.
The life mutated into a watch
which did not move.
The mob controlled the streets.
How thin was the tribe of fireflies in dark?
The sparks were cold
and stars were warm.
I stayed by the fire of meditation for a
turbulent river.
The movement of shadows made me sad.
An obscene climate inflicted wounds on trees.
Despair & rage, raised a panic in the herd.
Nameless intruders climbed our houses.
Satish Verma, 11 november 2015
Legitimacy
No plaques?
No head stones?
He did not start the inferno.
It was a misspelt agony
in purple ruins.
Pain had no other name!
While thinking of him
I evacuated the matter,
completed the circle beyond solitude.
More I did not break the silence
worse was the grief!
Meaningless threats
had no relevance.
I recaptured the color of stars,
glory of flames,
beauty of crucial controversy.
I was repeating the legitimacy
of alphabets.
Greatness was the idea of mediocres.
Every thought had the dignity
of its own!
Satish Verma, 9 november 2015
Savage Fire
Does not penetrate,
it brushes superficially.
Repeating me, from dot to dot, it leaps.
The ego performs swift impulses
blasting the constellations of simple arithmetic.
Blue sky gives a second thought,
strange colors appear.
Love has changed the skyline
and labels are fading.
Virginal truth has lost its burning print.
It flaunts and swears like a theater.
Bedecked, larger than reality,
second hand puppets rule the master.
Empty vessel pours out faith.
The city walks at dawn,
night lives in metaphors.
Gritty myths disturb the neighbourhood,
salvaging comforts from rumours.
In dreams we hear the clapping of hands.
Hopelessness burns me like a savage fire.
Satish Verma, 8 november 2015
Afraid Of Unknown
A patch on my shirt
was growing.
I could not, because I did not
want to remove it.
I took everything, without choosing,
a flag of my territory fluttered
without wind.
Like a marooned kiss on fainted lips
cryless eyes.
The body fails, climacteric defeat evident.
A satellite crashes in midsky.
A star in waste was rising.
Multiple setbacks start,
like the botched transplant.
Thieves were active in dark alleys.
Kicked at slump bodies, like
sleeping on road.
I was always afraid of unknown.
Satish Verma, 6 november 2015
Passage To Unknown
At cultural opening of thin
layers of faith & consciousness,
a new breed of angels was
romping on our souls.
I suffered again for tiny spaces
between the thoughts.
Death cannot be intrusive.
It waits at the door of light.
The show will start when truth dies.
I go again for the reality of anticlimax,
the anxiety of endless flights into fantasies,
the hallucinations of falling trees.
Give me some space to pedal
the silken smoke of dark truths.
There was fire in my heart
and eternal burning
of a lake. I cared for tears,
the eerie memories.
The age-old pain of seeking
the liberation from twisted symbols,
simple measures of
finding a passage to unknown.
Latest comments:
25 july 2025
sam53
bez początku bez końca...brzmi bardziej tajemniczo
25 july 2025
może w sierpniu będzie lato.... :)
25 july 2025
kiedyś to był błękit, teraz jakieś to niebo
25 july 2025
violetta
Piękny nastrój:)
25 july 2025
Ach:)
25 july 2025
AS
w życiu nie widziałem tak genialnej miniatury;
25 july 2025
Jaga
Gdy z naturą w zgodzie/ płynie czas i deszcz
25 july 2025
Gdy z naturą w zgodzie/ płynie czas i deszcz
25 july 2025
Już po dwunastej...
24 july 2025
Weronika
Skończony, co się zowie.
24 july 2025
świetny, dowcipny tekst :) a jednak wzrusza
24 july 2025
Jeśli klamot sam zauważył że stał się klamotem,
25 july 2025
wiesiek
24 july 2025
wiesiek
23 july 2025
wiesiek
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