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Poetry

	Satish Verma
	PROFILE About me Friends (3) Poetry (3973)

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Satish Verma, 10 september 2013

TREMBLING

Sparks are dimmed. No use
collecting them. I will burn my home
to get light.
My god was sleeping.

Let me use the night goggles.
On the ridge walks a silhouette of
limping buddha,
his neck broken.

I did not help myself
falling. He had asked me
'Are you me?'

The anxiety of lifting the rock
again. I gather the grass leaves
on my toes.

Nobody wants to ruin the day
looking at baby silence,
featureless, mute.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 9 september 2013

THE NEXT WALL

the whispering voices
laid down the arms on the skull of the leader,
father of pain, then asked the guns to fire
a last volley towards home

targeting the prudence of fingernails
who crossed the gap
seventy thousand years ago,
the progenitors with exposed genitalia:

the dead man's mouth was full of
secrets, my god, they were frozen pistons
of sugar, face bloated of pride,
absolutely white,

the skin had been very kind
a pink shade of poetry, you deliver
a rose for unnamed soldier
I break the windows and mirrors

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 8 september 2013

* RETURN JOURNEY

I forgot, was it me
in a body pile draped in dust,
still hot, bruised, burnt, a mad megalomaniac
starting a civil war, creating suicide bombers,
young virgins inhaling death?

This journey under the guns, displacing
hapless thousands, will reach destination
on thick, blood stained red, dirt road of life? Step by step
the dynasty breaks and violence, a malignant
spread overtakes the bones

of avatars; the round bloodshot eyes
cross the barriers of silence and step out
from the skin: they were bombing
his bunker.

*On the death of Vellupillai Prabhakaran, LTTE Leader

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 7 september 2013

* THE DEAD TIGER

the hunt begins after sunset
under cracked moon, blindfolded clouds
start visiting volitionlessly:

the nesting eagles, I choose
this bitter absurdity of large wings
under the sun, where they will announce the shade,

a lonely patch of life, of signature
kill of future, the metamorphosis of a street
into unending wait;

undress the sleeping lion
of combat fatigue, his brain splattered,
the dreams moved like tectonic plates

* On seeing the body of Vellupillai Prabhakaran

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 6 september 2013

IN A TENT VILLAGE

you walk on wodden legs
a lump in breast, though benign
but kids are abducted from wombs;
a road map is spread on the dirty mat
for finding the missing link,
while a solid-fuel missile was ready
to be launched

scarlet lips for d'cor,
unwanted hairs on chin popping out,
archipelago of hawks in brain:
the vulnerable, tending their wounds, hiding
in tunnels of shame; I like black berries
in sleep, cannot listen my own voice,
have become blind for my own hands

dried stigmas of crocus will color my
obscene poverty orange-yellow, slum
rain, no place to sit, old memories are coming back
I am unstuck from a wheelchair

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 5 september 2013

YIELDING

Time sets upon the arcane taboos
you wear the unknown fear
like cowries around your neck,

a bulletproof jacket did not work,
the fish in the brain
was the religion.

Whom do you trust now
in the caveful of seekers? They were demanding
every dropp of your blood from a waning relic.

Climbing Mt Everest was a raw deal,
dismantling the heights
like plasma, as naked as the ice on unmarked grave.

Hyper-sided, the priest was confused
in repetition of a prayer,
and the floor trembled in uplifting the god.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 4 september 2013

MAY I SAY

At ethnic moment
on the moonfront, artless impressionists
of parallel conflicts with anxious looks
come to share the self realized truth
of mangled uncertainties,

watching your own dead body:
small chicks huddle together for contemporary
thoughts of violence-to kill or not to kill-
humanity walks with bent head
listening nothing:

I am desperate, the moon was stone faced
black holes bleed and throw the crystals
of red light: dropp your pen and hold the death
on doorway, morning wind was coming
from the seaside:

for dissolution of your ego, I would go for a long swim.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 3 september 2013

A CRAZY THEME

sulking penetrates in deep veins,
deliverer becomes bald,
jumps to his death in scorching sun,
a starfish inherits the costume of
skull and crossbones-

the cynosure tries to wear a crown
of hawthorn for the freedom of soul,
the bonds of pink capped dahlias, a version
of milky smiles, in a battle of withdrawls,
it was impossible to wrench the crumbling style,

the caterpillars were walking with iron shoes
never to become butterflies, the secret
of eggs will be buried in bitterness of separation,
I was drowning but for my faith for the river
flowing in my back yard.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 2 september 2013

A SOUL DIES

Sky overcast, moon was sad.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

Who killed the bird in morning rain?
Ashes were sent to the lake.

A hidden slaughterman did not die.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

The good old name now spells the doom.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

I will call you in pitch-dark night.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

Ascending gods have ruined my life.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

A child was stolen from a mother's bed.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 1 september 2013

PEBBLES IN THE POND

A crooked slanting moon
shifts the eye
comes under the chaste tree
and washes the tainted
victory.

Wolves start howling
at the tomb of unknown martyr,
man-eaters recoil
on the sugar island
and talk about destinies,

A mourning crowd walks
repudiating the death;
one day nuances of an ode
will thaw the delta
in disbelief.

The Delphic attitude
of a translucent murder
narrates the wisdom of sadness
which cannot propel the
blood stained light.

Satish Verma