Satish Verma, 9 september 2012
On wrong side of truth
a prophecy burns.
A conflict of your own choosing
when more was less.
Do you need some divine
intervention in resolving
human questions?
The innocence of a sunflower
will not blame the moon
for dark night.
To watch a huge fig tree
coming out of a tiny
seed to give shelter
to hundreds of passersby.
Are you overwhelmed
by the promise of unproven
auguries?
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 8 september 2012
Cutting across the food wars
against adamant century
do you think we will become extinct in this
uncool climate?
The dying windows do not throw any light.
I fear in dark alone.
The earthworms are nibbling
at history of mankind.
wearing the ash of dead rivers.
Between the same words
god disappears
and what is left is the image of broken
violins.
Why don’t you set the birds free
and break the cage of knowledge?
The searing heat of arguments
will find the golden silence.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 7 september 2012
Blood was in season,
on your hands.
A staged encounter
mauling the clouds.
Into a hare, you put the lead
with a roar of gun
and sun wants his share.
Beneath the honours
lies the guilt
of a ravaged moon.
I will not walk again
on the bristles of power.
Uncanny love lies in state.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 6 september 2012
Fear grips a family of words.
You are going to where you do not want
to go.
I remain worried about the unknown.
The inevitable was flowering
on dead palms.
Would you exhume the past to find out,
what the divinity has buried
along the panicles of croci?
I do not understand this war
between glaciers and guns.
Can we drink together the elixir
of death dripping from the snow peaks?
Sun was screaming from the unblooming trees.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 5 september 2012
Living between the deaths
as a witness
to a silence between the words.
Leaves had fallen:
yet a dry tree
was still flowering exuberantly
under a scorching sun.
My day has come,
but I was far away from
shores of the other body.
From unknown to unknown,
I am the self,
I am the known.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 4 september 2012
I will need
some new words today.
To say what I did not want to say,
scratching at the surface of truth.
I do not fight with meanings.
A shade between two borders of lies
between right and wrong. The eyes
will speak for the fierceness of hurts
carrying the fear of unknown.
It is, or was it drifting?
The declining time or sliding years
whichever was true,
will find a fallen tree
in a flowing river,
when I was still searching the sandbar
My sane world has no desire.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 3 september 2012
It was a wake up call
invoked
in the beginning of serene numbness.
Under the veiled threat of
a moon
celebrating the kill. A path in croci;
waiting becomes a torture for a
saffron sundown,
mercury was rising on snowy peaks.
Let’s toe a shikara in the lake
to catch a reflection
of the audible silence of a frozen shoulder
A pause in psychotic burst of
unshattered false teeth
of time in full habit.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 2 september 2012
In twilight of pain
I blink for a dot
to punctuate the intelligence.
My incoherence brings the unseen.
I stay at a vowel
to see the truth.
Immenseness versus depth,
in shoals of turbulent life.
Where do I hide my vessel?
A lure of the exotic death
does not bring the peach color
to reveal the light on earth.
An inverted blankness prints
the words of green bruises,
where the falls meet.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 1 september 2012
With stoicism writ on face
I invite the chisels
for giving birth to a dialogue
between me and the shaper.
Where did the things go wrong
in making the life a simple page
to write a beautiful poem?
Buddha give me a bo-tree or an interlocutor
who invents skin, teeth and eyes
of a failing system. The command
has gone to unknown robots. They were
manipulating the atrophied
limbs of high-tech generation
who do not know the pathless love
when we walk into the moon,
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 30 august 2012
The ashes will come back
in mauve,
in furrowed face of hunger.
I will wait for the clouds
to welcome
the blue flames.
I was the one
to walk on time
and squeeze the truth
for finding the essence of life,
to know the goodness,
of the ills of neighbourhood
via fake creations.
When a gull walks on the grass
I call the sun
Satish Verma
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