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Satish Verma, 26 january 2015
OTHER GOD WAS SLEEPING
Time within the earth hour
was lengthening.
The other god was sleeping.
Becoming was inviting the death
while climbing.
Frostbite amputates the memory.
Ending without beginning,
I was asking the seeker to stop
searching the answers.
The houses were burning on the road,
silence, had a vertical sound,
no words, no tongue.
Death had tears of blood
riding on the horseback
it was charging on the wandering incense.
Satish Verma, 25 january 2015
ALONENESS OF FIRE
He was asking for, at least,
a passive euthanasia.
Rage or hostility
was giving pain to phantom limbs.
Race puts forth,
a trembling version
of ethnic choice.
A piped dream
which never took off.
On middle of the road
a dragon rumbles,
hissing flames.
Something not on the left
not on the right.
Cannot keep the sky open.
Nothing moves now,
not even leaves of a lone tree.
There was a random cry
unheard in the aloneness of fire.
Satish Verma, 24 january 2015
STARS WERE BLACKENING
Black fire was furtively raging
after the massacre of moon.
I still stood with feet of clay
to experiment with my lies.
Bare neck hanging, something
has to be done, to make a gift
for the sake of truth, walking alone
without an effort.
I suddenly realize the illusion
and fail miserably in a perverted manner,
make a mockery of the death trap
in a hospital of thumbs
down, to roll the carpet.
Satish Verma, 23 january 2015
ASIA AT THE EDGE
I wished
a solitary temptation,
to write off karma
and become responsible for the spattered blood.
You were generating hatred, Asia,
in the land of Buddha.
I can hear the glaciers receding.
Answerable to belonging,
the change of generations,
makes me free to become deaf and dumb.
Only I wanted to see, and see through
burning walls,
the hands, who lighted the torch
to burn the transparent shame.
Rejecting the original script
of fighting a god, in the midst of
non-truths, how far the time will decide
the destiny of man? I break off
from the cliches, wait for the leaves to fall
and its drifting darkness on the open land
of wounded whispers.
Satish Verma, 22 january 2015
HISTORY WAS WALKING
Death in meadow
on leaves, under the sky.
History was walking over the bodies
of those who were in service
to move the wheels of sorrow.
The horror sinks slowly.
They were killed without war.
Unpaid debts of life, conflicts
at home. Amidst the laughter
somebody hangs in a noose.
Cry, cry, the possessed one,
your script had failed you.
Your chosen god was fake one
your unknown fear was real -
under the veil of sky-blue peace.
The faith has a price now,
put up for sale on the combed street,
from the opening of a number.
No wages are fixed for lying deep
round the pain of centuries.
Satish Verma, 21 january 2015
DIALOGUE ON NON-DEATH
Drowning her children
back in her womb,
a big tear rolls down the cheek of earth.
She was sitting on broken bones
to watch the terror,
ear for ear to listen,
eye for eye to see.
Hope was becoming ephemeral.
Nostalgia for breathing in,
the scented grains of death’s fruit,
no analogue, no relics of blood
and a ceremony of water, soil and wood.
All gone. It is a battered rubble
back to back, autoclaved, clean.
We walk back, heads bowed, shaven,
absolutely fouled with no immediate answer.
Was there a dialogue on non-death?
Satish Verma, 20 january 2015
BALD SKY
The fall
was imminent
on the moment of complete truth.
I was talking of annihilation
standing on scaffolding of fear.
Walking on burning coals
was a sacred commitment,
a spiritual solidarity,
with lake salt –
to lift the spirit
of sagging trees.
Of freedom of body
in camps of violence.
Without sound, I wanted to see
the creation in nothing.
Anything was happening
under the bald sky.
Satish Verma, 18 january 2015
CHASTE TREE
A poem writes my name.
I am trembling
on paper like salt.
Flowing like moon
on the black wound.
The lamb and the skull.
I know the saint
invented by masses.
You need a fresh awakening.
A vastness from nothing to nothing.
Later the pebbles will dance
on the bay of death.
Sometimes the scales were jinxed,
sometimes the weight was light.
I was sitting under a chaste tree.
Satish Verma, 17 january 2015
DIGNITY
There was existence,
without space.
I was afraid of my unborn child.
Inheriting the stammer
of history
I could not think of any brand abuse.
On the contrary, fumes
throw you off the road.
Full moon rising on the cleft.
I was, as I am, never being
to any threat of drowning
in contradictions.
A dignity in withdrawl
and coming back after sunset –
to walk in night, alone.
Satish Verma, 16 january 2015
BLAZING TRAIL
They swim like tadpoles.
Thoughts!
I was waiting at the far end of pond.
Heartburn increases at dusk,
fierce battle of blazing stripes
on blankets.
On the scarlet face
a bridge was burning
in wide open eyes.
Somebody takes an aim
hauling a runaway bruise.
Blood comes out roaring.
Weep, my stars,
ice was thin –
drowning the lake.
Latest comments:
3 august 2025
sam53
podoba mi się ujęcie... można byłoby bardziej
3 august 2025
podoba mi się ten biskupi kolor :)
3 august 2025
dziękuję za miłą lekturę :)))
2 august 2025
violetta
Ładne
2 august 2025
Jakie piękne
2 august 2025
Weronika
Jednia.
1 august 2025
Mech bardzo powoli rośnie:)
1 august 2025
Życie pochłania. Piękny wiersz.
1 august 2025
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...
3 august 2025
wiesiek
3 august 2025
absynt
3 august 2025
absynt
3 august 2025
absynt
3 august 2025
absynt
3 august 2025
absynt
2 august 2025
wiesiek
2 august 2025
Jaga
31 july 2025
absynt
31 july 2025
absynt