Satish Verma, 16 august 2014
Looking beyond the window
I always wanted to shut my eyes.
No sky could hold my head.
I did’t want to see the innocent smiles
vanishing from the moulded faith.
The smell of burning leaves waftes through
the catacomb of dead thoughts.
The time does not spare any overflow of poetry.
Life extracts its price of tomorrow.
Nothing will change. People will laugh,
weep and mourn. A candle for those
who jumped from minaret of silence. A
bonquet for them who died on waves.
I will hide the kernel under the mud
by stealth One day amongst the
spikes a pink spirit will rise. A double landmark
for death and dust.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 15 august 2014
Till last moment, life can produce a meaning.
Of sky, stars and space between darkness and light.
I am not going to weigh the burden
and insult the ‘how’ of impossible,
so much is still to finish.
I am not going to commit suicide.
Are there any takers of grass, of moon
and scented winds?
the borderline is very vague between
ecstasy and depression.
A bit of silence, a patch of sunlight
I drink my cup from the tranquil hands.
I am water, I am fire
The fear is not going to dissipate me.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 14 august 2014
The evening wind tapped me on the shoulder
gently and said:
“Clouds will talk to you now”
I turned around, looked up at the sky
and drops filled my eyes.
Daily I was drinking hemlock
to understand my ignorance of virtue.
He is gone, but I want to feel the ascending
paralysis, a tincture that is called poison.
For the sake of others, below the faith
lies the pain concealed.
My cup is full. It spills on the soul
and I grieve for the defiled truth.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 13 august 2014
Sometimes horizon roams with moon
I pluck the stars
night drizzles from the dark clouds.
A shadow falls on the door
without struggle or rumor
I know he has come, my guest
the survivor of genocide.
He has come a long way
a message on his parched lips
he rubs hands.
Inferno he says. Holocaust he
murmurs. It is here again,
whole world is under siege.
He tells me, do something for the grass.
Ask your god to come back from domes.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 12 august 2014
Finally I found myself.
This book of life
had never been the same.
Who had invented God
from the pilfered version?
I say my prayers aggrieved.
Again solitude murmurs.
This twisted world
indulging in phallic worship.
The huge torch in your hand
lights the ugly feet
leaving footprints on dignity.
Blood bath of humming-birds
on the sand dunes of silence.
Children are frightened.
Hungrily I follow the scent.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 11 august 2014
Your unclaimers
will miss the date
with a lunatic world,
what might
you need
for the final journey.
Don’t stop at midway
to watch the history
taking a turn.
A crispy sun
was waiting in meadows
to welcome bonhomie,
freedom of unlacing
the foes. The flesh sends
upright signals
for releasing the soul.
The incredible smell of bleed
will hang on the solid stings of space.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 10 august 2014
There was once a worried face
who unbuttoned
a white fire
in a pink hole
of an eye to lift
the fingerprints
of depression. It was
a closed-circuit
for a galaxy of
hot flares and flying hurts.
You must not cross
the threshold
of silence, abducting
the blood stained
words.
Come back to your home
O grief,
the fog is thickening outside.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 8 august 2014
An acid dropp burns your lips,
dares you to question
the continuity of crossroads.
Nowhere you reach.
A burden to accept
the gratitude of a cactus
for permission to bloom
in starless night.
The perversity prevails over the body.
You strip to the bone
and start a blue fire
in the valley of denials.
The skill breaks the terrible wall.
Unlike a paperweight you bend
a clean argument
and climb on the stings.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 7 august 2014
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
Satish Verma, 6 august 2014
The twisted moon
moved horizontally,
plunged in cleavage
of dark trees
eating the stars.
Aloneness; midnight dream,
faces the wall of nails.
Scratches on the flesh
blood oozing.
The benign end.
Put off the lights,
it helps to think clearly.
Drape the mercy of night.
Snake was hissing, may strike.
A cramp will kill the joy.
The fish will be welded
to a candle.
Satish Verma
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