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Satish Verma, 4 april 2015
GREEN VISION
In a starry night
an adolescent thought starts
a rivalry. A baby moon squirms.
No hour was safe from terror in dark.
I climb the stairs breathlessly.
The great divide deepens in hearts.
Incisors bite the tongue,
grey cells bleed inside.
Thick ash has not stopped the cinders
smouldering under the veils of flushed peace.
Cupped tears wash the feet of death,
a caravan of words moves desolated,
cutting on the edges, before you say
goodbye to green vision.
Today I am pulling out the nails
from the walls. No hangings of departed centuries.
No portraits of exiled flames.
Only the face of truth, burning
at the interface of unthruths.
Satish Verma, 3 april 2015
GOLDEN VALLEY
Blackened silence was holding the reflectivity,
reality was on the run.
Exile was complete.
Dark secrets, standing on head
remained buried in your chest
absorbing all colors of sun.
A night remembers the friends
who went over the hills one by one
to find the pugmarks of panther
that was killing your infant biographies.
The world stood bodyguard
not allowing any immortality.
Your speech was clear, but unheard
in terror of burnt-out principles.
New sleeping cells are coming up for a
metaphysical revolt. A heron was
stabbed by soaring kites
in the golden valley.
Satish Verma, 2 april 2015
FIRST WORDS
Tie the knot with my mortgaged life –
I have started the self-descent.
Don’t leave me alone –
I have to unload some debts.
It was very disturbing. I have again forgotten
my alphabet and become illiterate.
Your consent is must
for starting a new journey.
I am neither afraid, nor worried
but fever is rising, like a flood
and ridge was collapsing.
The death was unknown to me –
it will come one day as a guest
and stay with me forever.
Times have rattled me enough
and sword hangs from the roof.
Why do I dream such?
The dichotomy between gold and lies
will start one day. I cannot go back
to my dilapidated house where I met the first words.
Satish Verma, 1 april 2015
DIG THE FLOOR OF THE MOON
A fear stalks me on the road.
Sun was very aloof and cold.
Cannot stop the decline,
give me prayers of your lips.
You talk of dark children dying
when I was losing consciousness.
Will not question the ink of death
or silence of night.
The random greed of man walks
in golden ruins without listening.
I am counting my years wasted
in pursuit of crazy dreams of climbing a watchtower.
Hunger had become a great teacher.
Pain becomes a face. Limbs and shadows
seek justice after rape and murder.
Something seeps in me. Wounds bleeding
on my hands, I dig the floor of the moon
where God was sleeping.
Satish Verma, 31 march 2015
FATE OF THE KEY
Watching the charred remains
of the toys
you want me to search for another house.
Eventually I decide
to go for a voiceless door.
Who was calling whom?
Eternity hurts me.
I want to come to a stop,
pause for the evening
and climb up the hearse.
A howl is waiting for me
to engulf me in myself.
The blind statement will sit as a judge
and decide the fate of the key.
I cannot open the lock!
Satish Verma, 30 march 2015
AGAIN FALLING IN LOVE
I don’t belong to me,
to you, to her, to him.
Who are you, I ask myself
again falling in love for a tender shoot,
uncoiling under the debris of unfaithful corners?
I was watching a small birdie
hopping against a mirror, cracking the beak
to kill a rival.
She was pulling at my arm
white death in red scarf.
This is for you my fellow-traveller,
a beautiful sector of my hidden garden,
where I have permitted you to come for a walk.
Hand in hand we will watch the peerless evening –
sitting on the wings of gulls.
Will you like to break a promise
before I implode on the moon?
You light the earthen lamp daily under a tree,
to possess me, trap me, digest me. Voicelessly
I melt into smoke, fly away in small huffs.
Satish Verma, 29 march 2015
CLOSE THE CIRCLE
Why are you packing up for final journey?
I am not getting the signals from the stars
through the amnesia. The moon will rise
on the desolate landscape of broken dreams
A shudder gives away. You always pursued incompleteness.
So the striving continues, for wholeness,
without sitting in meditation, remaining restless,
churning, agitating, creating comets on the lips,
touching the tulips, red roses, scented air,
traveling all alone through the black memories.
Talking to yourself in emptiness, wading in the
green eternity to find pure, unblemished truth,
the secret of eternal youth. Which fear had
perverted my vision? Why should I be afraid
of meeting you in me? Cannot I maintain my.
Integrity? The wheels are moving and your
gifts are lying unclaimed. Where do we meet?
No temple is safe. A foreign land where the
clouds bleed and sun unloosens the threat,
I will seek to close the circle.
Satish Verma, 26 march 2015
AUBRURN DAWN
I believe, I had not arrived
when you were arbitrating
between naked steel and the truth.
Violence were you. I was watching
the burning pyres in a row. Small hands
were collecting the ashes,
casting glances on the falcons.
Why reincarnation of the reaper again and again
arching the helpless life in terror?
Half-filled cups of tears are spilled
on the marbled smoke.
We made the truce with slaughter
in moonlight pitying the survivors in sun.
The face watching from the window disappears.
An auburn dawn wakes with swollen eyes.
I might find a lost child of the empty womb –
wandering in wilderness of three dimensional sorrow.
O mother! somewhere the roots are waiting!
Satish Verma, 25 march 2015
DISTANT VOICE
Today I will shed my body
and meet you halfway at watery address.
My eyes were not blinking to hold the clouds.
To live or not to live was a great pain.
Two small hands and two bubbling eyes
glued to a broken wall was my hope.
And glitter of the road,
fallen trees,
dead panther,
had sacrificed my sun.
I think I live to die daily,
and die daily to live again
over the enormous property of shame.
Melting in my own blood
I was becoming dark.
The night was dancing on my sadness.
Now it was me, shaking in remoteness
of a distant voice!
Satish Verma, 24 march 2015
MESSAGE WRITTEN OFF
Any need to stitch an acid,
bare designed, in endoplasm,
when moon was walking like a full-breasted bride?
The synthetic feat was neat and clinical,
yet I want to turn back and talk about
something which heals the spirit of winged sorrow.
Marrow implant blooms like pink dough.
Can you walk straight,
think clean?
Organs for sale; mannequins are real flesh, bones, heart.
Roasted incense of sick birds floats –
you become a possessed iris.
Can you do something?
My limbs are aching, terrific pain.
Want to run like a stricken buck,
go for fasting like a schizophrenic,
become a letter undelivered
and message written off!
What is the truth then?
I cannot afford to accept the defeat!
Latest comments:
1 august 2025
violetta
Mech bardzo powoli rośnie:)
1 august 2025
Życie pochłania. Piękny wiersz.
1 august 2025
sam53
grzyby porastają wszystko, mech to już wyższa
31 july 2025
Bezka
Cudny klimat
31 july 2025
Ewa, aż zabrakło mi słów
30 july 2025
AS
mistrzostwo...
30 july 2025
przywiera do kości ten Wiersz...
30 july 2025
Bardzo fajne
28 july 2025
Łukasz Radwaniak
Temat stary, ale jary i dorze potraktowany:)
27 july 2025
Jaga
Dla mnie trwa w każdym aspekcie. A deszcz i
27 july 2025
Wrona siwa :)
25 july 2025
bez początku bez końca...brzmi bardziej tajemniczo
31 july 2025
absynt
31 july 2025
absynt
30 july 2025
absynt
29 july 2025
wiesiek
28 july 2025
Jaga
28 july 2025
absynt
27 july 2025
wiesiek
26 july 2025
wiesiek
21 july 2025
ajw
21 july 2025
wiesiek