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	Satish Verma
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Satish Verma, 19 lipca 2012

I AM NOT

Time capsule in gangrene
foot. It was madness of the legs.
There were no sins in the ghetto. Only
illicit distillation and girls changing
the beds.

It stinks when he says he was god.
What was the ism of the sex
in the language of violence? Trash, you
throw the half-eaten apple on the road,
and sun rises nonchalantly in penthouse.

Not the full moon tonight. I will filter
the moonlight in my cup stealing the
autumn from the lavender, despair
of the tormenter.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 20 lipca 2012

HUSHED SPEECH

Was worried about the assault
from inside,
holding the shoes of his sons,
he was trailing the sectarian kill.
Utopia had its own weapons.

I was trying to understand schizophrenia
knifing for peace. Do you think mental
fragmentation would find me on
the door bell of sleep? I was walking
through the hard kisses of death –

on mouth so that I would not speak
about the valley of tears.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 21 lipca 2012

IN SELFISH VEIN

What was the idea of charity,
when you were hiding
yourself from you?

Was it a non-existence?
Or you were writing an
unseen anthology?

Was that your kin choice
for a reciprocal pain,
inflicted in dark?

Between right and wrong
I am laying my wreath
on my grave.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 22 lipca 2012

PLASMA FLOATS

Like a bikini top
two hills were rising
in a spiral optics. Has

an altruistic vision.
A wildfire erupts between
the thongs of dead.

You have a mobile message
not to praise the sunrise
in the woods.

I am watching the flames
with a fury
of a wounded tiger.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 23 lipca 2012

GHOST TOWN

Watching the descent
without god
in an intelligent design.

Come have a look at
our adversary.
The template offers an open hand.

The culture of hunger
in this urbane obscenity
sitting on the payment making a motif.

The giant strode into
the hut to blame the poor
who would not eat his words.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 24 lipca 2012

ADDING TO WOES

Again I would hear the night sounds
through the hours of civilities
when there was a pause in the body
untouchable.

You were sleeping with counterfeits,
running down the golden dome
sailing over the silken clouds.
My rough palm was still holding the pen.

That mirage, that fire on the road
had cheated us. You had pushed me in an
aging portrait. Alive, I am looking at you
from an empty glass.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 25 lipca 2012

GIVING AWAY

A study of soul continues;
hold back the animal,
discovering yourself in blind light.

Awaken the hungry child
of autumn
and give him the dreams of strawberries
to eat, time would drink his tears

sans lips. A second death of the
pain of separation from the footprints
of hurricane who bartered the home
for psalms;

counting your failures. Take the bowl
and go to the hills of soaring flames
and bring back the burning song.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 26 lipca 2012

SINGING WOODS

Walking out of the body
I was drowned,
accepted and condoned by depth of sorrow.
A wide circle of testosterone
giving pardon to a sin
becomes sexless.

You were overwhelmed by the missed beats.
Your prosaic crime of not fathering
the words becomes a belly dance
for wrinkled verses. There was no meaning left
for the artifacts, the national shame.

The autumn was praying for the
well-being of pine needles in fog. The repetition
of the outbursts was cold and I
was smiling.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 27 lipca 2012

BLOOD DRAPED

It was coming up, the politics
like dirty sex
in tall Parthenium grass.

The panther was hiding on a steppingstone
watching the hot, field hockey
played with skulls of peers.

Mauled, the peach skin was
entertaining sunlight in
the metaphoric village.

Prisoners of false ceilings,
we sing the anthem with
the crowd of wolves.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 28 lipca 2012

THE CANDLE BURNS

Not a single word added today
to my tinsel book. The brown eyes
were searching my smile.

You want to close the happening
of first moon and the fig.
My roses start a new dialect,

waiting on the clouds, almost
in rains, spreading the wetting
agent between the eyes.

The distance was the most crucial
thing, that does not end;
endlessly stretching.

Satish Verma