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Satish Verma, 8 october 2014
DYING TO LIVE
Eight kisses of death and I am alive
My chest is still bleeding
Come brother, come,
stitch my wounds.
Whom shall we believe, rebirth
or life after death?
Both are study of wasteland.
To speak through angels is difficult these
days and prayer has run
out its charm.
I want to swim with octopus
again,
to test its suckered tentacles.
The envy of ocean cannot stop me.
Tonight the burning candle is going to live.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 7 october 2014
THE WHEEL
He was very thin, half naked, one arm
broken, glasses cracked.
Early morning an owlet will land over its head
And give a long hoot.
The bleary eyes will look down non-chalantly
on browsing goats at its feet. I will see a twinkle
in the eyes.
A cave man, or Buddha! I loved your brazenness
cat walking alone on the spiky path of truth,
drinking goat’s milk and raising cotyledons
of guiltless faith.
Post-traumatic, I squeeze your feet.
Any reincarnation in future? Any divine intervention?
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 6 october 2014
THE DIFFERENCE
I was watching a flight of swans
in a neat row over the horizon.
You were counting the pebbles on the beach.
Sun will shortly crease the clouds,
but first let us decide for our starving existence
how far is our home?
I cannot assemble the broken mirror,
the splinters have twisted images.
Somebody knocks out a tomb in sand,
and I wait for a giant wave to wash
out the traces.
The death offers the final peace.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 5 october 2014
OMAR-2
Give me something to chew,
a savage numbness
is engulfing my brain.
Water level was rising
and the time of rented happiness
was over.
Pheromones were showing true likeness
in hate,
violence was brilliantly portrayed
and death was hideous.
Attachedment assumes a blast,
stares me in empty eyes,
hurling silence with invisible force.
Give me something to drink
like moonlight. It is very hot here.
I am walking downhill
to roll back the rock.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 4 october 2014
Isful ah-ness!
Winter has stopped indulging.
Brown body of summer
longs for the full lips of moon.
I become saddened
tracking time.
Desire is now a temple
outraged by sun
starts a dialogue with winds.
Grey hills kill the songs
and empty life again fills in
the cargo of memories.
Silence is cool, ticks like a clock
breaks a stone
and melts into night.
I prepare to die again
amidst the disguises of fidelities.
* A Phrase from Les Murray.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 3 october 2014
INTERPOLATIONS
It was the hiatus
that underlying silence
of which I was hearing the voices.
There was nothing left to be said.
I wanted to levitate in void
to unlearn what I understood.
Why the distance interpolates
between the guilt and acceptance?
Leaves are falling in different colors.
Time avenges, burns the grass,
the lips, the retina,
the black walls and white numbers.
Inner peace will return
on the ashes of fallen trees.
Life will resume another journey.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 2 october 2014
HYPNOSIS
That intense pleasure at the height of negation
haunts me
from the sense of weightlessness.
In praise of complaints I sacrifice my anger.
Sanity demands an explanation
for the grieved flowers
who assembled for a wreath.
The window will not betray the sun.
Prodigal sunshine will come back
to face the arrest.
The prism breaks the charm
flings off the clouds of flirting winds
and removes the veils from the eyes.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 1 october 2014
‘...ROOTS THAT CLUTCH...’
You know I do not hope
any intermission,
between life and death.
My path goes nowhere.
A hiatus between the mirrors has questions.
From childhood I was always
floating between the meanings
of lessons unknown.
I longed for straight humilities.
Present redeems the past.
Each sound leaves an echo
and has-been becomes the shrine of peace.
ad infinitum I will wait
for the primitive blood
to reappear, the truth of
midnight sin.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 30 september 2014
ANSWERED...
I will ask you no more.
An answer settles the question.
Let myriad questions remain in air.
Thirst is larger than the river.
Silence! Ghosts are walking.
You can hear footfalls of time,
past is peeping from the windows.
Dyslexic kids are not able to decipher,
the code of gifts, the sweet tongue.
Powerless hands are tied behind the back
and neck is broken with precision.
The rape of fragrance,
petals are curling up to storm,
flying homeless in sky without speech,
ceaselessly searching instead–ness.
Half-burnt bodies for feast, roasted dreams
for taste.
But for fire, a single tear drop
frozen on the cheeks of mercy.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 29 september 2014
TOPICAL NOW...
Integrity of door was challenged,
walls will not take the blame.
Tension increased between believing
and non-believing.
Did we listen to moaning of night?
There was a murder in broad day-light.
Eyes will not betray the whisking of corpse,
pallbearers were moving very fast.
I thought nothing will ever move now
not even the possessed mind.
The final page of book has been torn
and the story will never reach the end.
To become anything or something
is difficult these days.
Do we need to drink our own blood
to become great on paths of anonymity.
Satish Verma
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...
4 august 2025
wiesiek
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absynt
3 august 2025
wiesiek
3 august 2025
absynt
2 august 2025
Jaga
31 july 2025
absynt
31 july 2025
absynt
30 july 2025
absynt
28 july 2025
Jaga
28 july 2025
absynt