Najnowsze prace:
Satish Verma, 11 maja 2015
City Of Stones
Anointment of any prefix was hurting
I started shedding the names.
To fill the void, dialogues were not sufficient.
So many of thorns, without seeing,
in flesh, reading the closed mind, to
reach the inner blue.
After dark bloody spills on the rose petals,
you stagger on white tendons;
cracking the fright, peeling off the truth.
How nervous was the death to tread in.
In the pit, no sound, no hiding.
Deep down was hung a turmoil.
calling a name, when night was sad
and lightning was lifting the clouds.
The city of stones in me, the solar system
the galaxies, were stumbling out in defeat.
Satish Verma, 12 maja 2015
Blindfolded
A dented version of an old grudge,
blackened lips with an elite song,
your relentless search ends in
a terminal shock, nursing a green wound.
That anguish was still there, and the wild anger
sprawled on hidden fractures, false teeth,
and twisted spy glasses. Sky falling silent
in terrible gloom of centuries.
Blindfolded we are led for a ceremony
of total dedication, drinking opiates
from the cupped hands of a silver god,
with alien innocence and silent submission.
I stare at the changing colors of world
shifting like summer dunes,
dancing on the graves, in dripping
dew of midnight moon, salt of tears.
Satish Verma, 14 maja 2015
Condemned
For human face of death
umbilical cord need not
extend. The darkness takes care of
unblemished ghost of sun.
Intergalactic scan remains unseared,
trench warfare continues unabashedly.
Between brothers, the greed calls
for incendiary attacks, for total annihilation.
To achieve the illusion, the blurred statement
feeds the imagination. Deaddiction starts
a race. Deafness of the tunnel. The black
knees crawling on coals.
No night was safe from the condemned suicide.
The creator had the absurd designs.
Why not now the confessional stick,
to beat the darkness? Memory of light
becoming stronger. Give me your hand
to reach the ceremonial peak.
Satish Verma, 15 maja 2015
Give Me
They were burned alive.
Most cherished to me,
betraying the functionality of a system,
interstitial asphyxiation took place.
In the garb of a garlanded saint
a gun booms.
The death is rolled from tongue to tongue.
flying limbs get strung on trees.
A faith was in flames,
somebody leapt from the inferno
with folded hands, to melt into a stone
reaching nowhere.
Non-particles were becoming visible
parting the sky.
Nostalgia was possessed with belief of non-believers,
a thought without a thinker.
I am taking liberty, O God
give me something to live!
Satish Verma, 16 maja 2015
Becoming Nobody
In search of a missing clock
he went to the city of a fake encounter.
It was irrelevant to find
the lost tunnel.
There was no street without a rustle.
The sap of tall trees had bloomed
into jaws of death.
He stepped on a land mine
and blew himself
to reach the truth.
And his gift was an
apostate of me.
The tenth day moon will
celebrate my becoming nobody.
The rivals will have
a field day
dancing on my shroud.
Satish Verma, 17 maja 2015
Recall
The men were pulled out
from homes,
died on road,
burned to bones and ashes.
At the behest of tall,
unforgiving state.
Compulsion of armchair and mansion
distorts, the regrets
of centuries.
The stones,
blameless flowers,
spurting blood
do not recall any God.
Satish Verma, 18 maja 2015
Echo
He refused to yield,
and the stars were burning hot.
Night was foggy, and the moon was hiding.
His white, shriveled hands
held the center of gravity.
Obsessively he anchored himself
in the muddled egos and bleeding knives.
Somebody was shouting that the legend
was a big fake.
The pardon will not work. Death was
still sleeping. They were searching
the saboteur when the sun went down.
Winds were in coma.
The ink rolled back from the warrant.
Two faces of pain, right and wrong,
fear and agony, all were him.
He had nothing to hide, nothing to declare.
Walked away in the high tide
in raining abuses, in hurting slogans,
and found his past, buried deep
in the ravines, where only the echo comes back.
Satish Verma, 19 maja 2015
Charred Mistakes
Inside me, I take a turn.
By tightening the noose
hangman feels liberated.
In the grave, charred mistakes
waking under the massive ashes
of slaughtered sun, grieve
for the light. Time was death.
Every lovely tree was time,
leaving footprints on our existence.
Seeing the stillness in total eternity
like the calm lake dying on the
other side of the truth.
Of the dismembered faith,
and fear of future, and action
to move with the higher lies.
Satish Verma, 20 maja 2015
Annex The Belief
A dialogue with fear,
to end the thought,
was walking alone on the edge of death.
All the mercy of life was with it.
Gone were the waves,
whispering, back to the sea of mundane paucities.
The sky and the pain were there.
Again a question of collective guilt was rising.
So much noise was coming
without any resemblance
with the damaged certainties.
An act of voiceless jealousy was starting for the ethnic slur.
It will not disappear
a conjugation between light and dark.
Can truth annex the belief
with a half hitch?
Satish Verma, 21 maja 2015
Annotated Fingers
Becoming myself, pricking the soles
staying alive, frozen, mistless eyes.
I bite my tongue,
chewing the forbidden peel of
what you are.
Can you move with me?
With my atavistic welts?
Emptying yourself of all the poisons,
while the space was shrinking.
The golden gate is silently watching you.
Give me your hands for a quiet journey,
they are shouting to blow the dirty dreams.
Every thing is done for the vanity
of the naked paper
fluttering in the annotated fingers.
Satish Verma, 22 maja 2015
Brutal Time
Innocent inside the circle,
you reached nowhere.
Dirty hands on the knob
kept the century locked.
Carbon footprints were deepening
under the sun, blue bird
circling in vain. The jealous
moon exiled to black hole.
The dust of the brutal time
settles on the umbrella. I am shivering.
The lies, the religion, the horrible
facts smell of the million deaths.
Who mode the tapestry of violence
into boneless truth and hairless
legs of prayers? Freedom escapes
through the scrolls of flames.
Satish Verma, 23 maja 2015
Bloodied Mouth
Tonight I lift your eyes from the face
and paste it on my window.
Even death cannot claim the space
reversing the age.
A bra bomber blows up herself
in a windowless cell,
to get her a name on the wall of silence,
sort of a miracle.
Roses are in bloom
perfume of your life.
Do you take for granted
a claim for the sun?
Over to next moon
I will wait for the night,
to start a turf war
for the bloodied mouth.
Satish Verma, 24 maja 2015
Commentries
This was my book of pain
with no ending.
Life had two meanings-
Anticipation of today,
and fear of tomorrow.
Time was running out
like sand from fists,
mists were rising,
commentaries on setting sun had begun.
Mind was calculating, computing all the time
the duality of desire.
I wanted to catch the words,
the movement of grief,
the completeness of a thought.
It came as a stroke-
the revelation of self.
We did not want to break
the bondage of problems.
It was complete annihilation
of our identity.
We loved conflicts
we loved to hate.
We adored the disorientation.
The violence of our thoughts
created an empty wasteland.
Satish Verma, 26 maja 2015
Beyond Transcendence
Breaking the boundaries,
you released energy.
Life was an immense emptiness
with dotting of pain and sorrow.
Counting did not help.
You had to escape
to painless unawareness.
Nameless you moved,
unacknowledged, unsung.
Humility became a meaningful dialogue,
reverberating in the creative minds.
The contentment
did not need any followers.
The occult gratification,
did not need any fame.
The cessation of agony
and anguish was important
for becoming.
Love and compassion became palpable;
when your heart poured,
when silence became eloquent,
when words become phrases.
And intelligence moved
beyond transcendence.
Satish Verma, 27 maja 2015
Commentries
This was my book of pain
with no ending.
Life had two meanings-
Anticipation of today,
and fear of tomorrow.
Time was running out
like sand from fists,
mists were rising,
commentaries on setting sun had begun.
Mind was calculating, computing all the time
the duality of desire.
I wanted to catch the words,
the movement of grief,
the completeness of a thought.
It came as a stroke-
the revelation of self.
We did not want to break
the bondage of problems.
It was complete annihilation
of our identity.
We loved conflicts
we loved to hate.
We adored the disorientation.
The violence of our thoughts
created an empty wasteland.
Satish Verma, 28 maja 2015
Lake Scenes
DREAM
Ambling on beach in dark
when the lake laps the feet.
Sometimes I wish to walk away
on the water like a dragonfly.
MORNING
Trying to figure out
what happened?
Lake Huron went
into flames!
MOONLIGHT
Up, above
a white ship was sailing.
On water,
thousands of boats.
Satish Verma, 29 maja 2015
Longing
Oh God
I don’t believe you
for irretrievable sins in me.
My grandchild was asking
why did you have to go?
I had no answer.
My eyes were damp.
Okay, cannot hold you grandpa,
will you come again?
I was the end,
I was the beginning.
I kissed the burning tears of my small chit.
I said, let me go,
Set me free,
I will come, one day in you,
you are me.
Satish Verma, 30 maja 2015
Morning Star
There was no beginning
no ending.
Beyond tomorrow
you will be, what you were not.
Words would disappear,
only meaning will be left.
The interval ceases to be
from ’wasness’ to open pathway.
When you are not ready
I will be there to lift the veil.
My total pain surges forward today.
Quietly death opens the door
to welcome the lost child,
whose burden was his taste.
Farewell to the visitors of night.
The morning star is rising.
Satish Verma, 31 maja 2015
Tears Were Never Sweet
It drips -
my ocean.
One dropp at a time
from the eyes of a grey stone.
Flows the anguish
in a cave.
A fallen grace from sky,
flickering like an earthen lamp.
Do not go
heart broken into crowd.
Tears were never sweet.
Satish Verma, 2 czerwca 2015
Virtue
Simple light I assume, I needed
nothing more, nothing less:
as I felt tired under the battered shade of a
tamarind tree.
Sour sweet pulp, sticky and acidic
life had held me by throat;
and I sang like a blue bird
in a golden cage.
The voice in me was different
neither of a stricken lamb,
nor of a green childhood
but a roaring sea.
From the surface I was rising
in sun, before ship comes
with cargo of grief,
and sorrow and pain.
You know, I don’t think, I think.
Death is taking lease on my name.
in other world,
where my counterpart is fighting for virtue.
Satish Verma, 5 czerwca 2015
Buried Silence
Blaze on the horizon was spreading.
No peak was left green,
time was running out.
Courier had left without a message
carrying cyanide capsules,
to kill or get killed.
My grey sky stuck with silent clouds
will wait for the stars.
The bride will leave under the shade of shine.
Serum was darkening
its milk of poison.
Blood was thinner than water.
The buried silence was turning
brown with pain.
Bruises had outraged the words.
Satish Verma, 7 czerwca 2015
Sprouting Seeds
Turnover my secret past
I have to dig up my future
In the hour of crumbling walls and dark
clouds.
Pale moon becomes a beacon
in another version of solitude
where nobody speaks of sores and premature
death.
I stay away from twinkling stars,
from the blossoms of traveling night
and winds which are moving towards the
sky.
Sullied words will go for a conspiracy
making a ghost of my garden
where seeds are sprouting.
Satish Verma, 8 czerwca 2015
Sneaking Gods
Reticent were moon, sky and birds.
A pall of gloom spread on the trees.
Stoically I rode on the wings of pain,
to watch the descending values.
A timeless truth separates the charm from lies,
and I long for the generosity of past
which could connect us to future.
A flame burns the eyes.
When we took the wrong road?
Still the fever is rising.
Gods sneak into our affairs.
A firebird flies in the space with long span of shadow,
the helpless victim lies in wait, to be dispatched.
Satish Verma, 9 czerwca 2015
Falling Seed
This world was too much.
in him.
Sometimes he wanted
to go insane.
(He was talking to himself).
He cared too much
of things and people around him,
but it splits
like a dry pod, the life,
in throes of running
to save a falling seed.
Yields his whole earned silence,
starts turning the pages
of a soiled book
lost in the attic of grief.
Satish Verma, 11 czerwca 2015
Buried Silence
Blaze on the horizon was spreading.
No peak was left green,
time was running out.
Courier had left without a message
carrying cyanide capsules,
to kill or get killed.
My grey sky stuck with silent clouds
will wait for the stars.
The bride will leave under the shade of shine.
Serum was darkening
its milk of poison.
Blood was thinner than water.
The buried silence was turning
brown with pain.
Bruises had outraged the words.
Satish Verma, 12 czerwca 2015
A Tear Drop
Dying daily in eternity
for it to be,
a tear dropp held all the pain of life.
You were lost in words,
between the phrases
time was in, time was out.
The color, the theme was fading,
a seduced century
contriving the reasons to commit
the destruction of self-being.
I was struggling to empty my mind
completely.
To remain human in the loneliness
of ruins
I want to walk straight.
Satish Verma, 14 czerwca 2015
Now
He, making his own cast. You knew it.
Unique mystique of transparency.
You could not touch him.
Walking ahead of the sun,
long shadow, sweating it out,
pungent odor.
Innocence hung from desiccated tongue,
he preserved original speech
before falling prey to polymorphism.
Certain amount of tears, some sadness
make life sweet for a while.
Phrases are not hurting now.
Satish Verma, 16 czerwca 2015
Retrieve The Moon
He did not depart
or reached anywhere,
and did not realize himself.
When words could not find the meaning,
where the man will go?
He thought he did not believe in ‘why’,
the limits of purpose,
dictating the sentence.
Stones were still floating on the sea
and he was standing on a shipwreck.
Thinking and unthinking do not solve the mystery
of human turnings,
the malignancy of artificial intelligence.
A rebirth of enlightment can take over?
The objectivity becomes the subject.
You trot on the grass
to retrieve the moon,
fallen midnight.
Satish Verma, 22 czerwca 2015
My Children Of Sorrow
It was there all the time
the core fear, my inadequacy.
Tonight I will let go off the fire
and become a non-moving time.
When you come home for the arousal,
under the lids, you will find giant tears
frozen into a lake of no return.
Watch your steps and walk gingerly.
My unlocked door always welcomes
the incendiary past, pure happenings.
To return the clothes worn by the truth
on the night of gang rape.
It does not go, my nameless agony.
My children of sorrow, where will
they go? The scars?
I scan the sky.
Satish Verma, 23 czerwca 2015
Legend Withers
I do not display, but am.
Where the heart lies.
In truth. I try to discover the centre
of sorrow and bliss.
Life has not given
me full text of death.
The shadows are larger than reals.
You will not remember me
in endless night.
I am going on a long journey
to find out what is death of a name
the death of a prayer,
and ending of self.
The naked helices of truth are blazing.
Death of a dawn
some thing dies in me.
I don’t grieve.
The frozen pain melts,
legend withers.
The shadow is liberated from image.
The sadness leaves the fingerprints on my face.
Satish Verma, 26 czerwca 2015
A Tear Drop
Dying daily in eternity
for it to be,
a tear dropp held all the pain of life.
You were lost in words,
between the phrases
time was in, time was out.
The color, the theme was fading,
a seduced century
contriving the reasons to commit
the destruction of self-being.
I was struggling to empty my mind
completely.
To remain human in the loneliness
of ruins
I want to walk straight.
Satish Verma, 27 czerwca 2015
Easy To Forget
Somewhere the truth lies still and frozen
why can’t we measure ourselves?
Measure the unseen depth?
Not for gain, not for bliss.
For inner tranquility, moving into the time
where living and dead meet.
The silhouette of cicrcling hawk was frightening
the Sun was wilting
and I had entered into a lonely sky.
The flash of insight burned my thoughts.
I must count my gifts.
Time was ruining my creases.
Here was a naked truth
unclothed by time
beyond the innocence of age.
You were walking on the planks of emptiness,
inviting death.
Was it so easy to die?
Easy to forget the unforgetful?
Your loaded years falling away?
Satish Verma, 28 czerwca 2015
Found Yourself
A parallel pain walks with you
when you split into space and time.
You were too shy to die, to feel
the anguish and bliss of death.
Something inside you springs
into a tree for a half-life.
The search for the meaning of life
takes roots in calamities.
They get back at you, the paranoids
on the horizon line, where the galaxy
meets the paradox, the void, the fear.
Any physical possibility generates the sparks.
The realization takes you back in mud and grass
outside the body to rest in peace.
The formless listening, seeing without objects
furthers hyperesthesia.
You have found yourself in emptiness!
Satish Verma, 29 czerwca 2015
Dying Beautifully
I stay connected out of the body,
with fireworks,
to widen the relativity,
to read the language of fear.
Death of a tree was mourned
by leaves in shadow.
The dew lies awake crying.
The town was disappearing
without a dialogue
with past, we were digging our heritage.
In search of roots
life was killing the tomorrow.
You an answer seeking
which was not yet born.
Over the mind
an ancient prayer floats.
The house was on fire
the words cannot cover the flaming body.
It was dying beautifully.
The space between the memories
will shrink and we will destroy
the ugly calender.
Satish Verma, 30 czerwca 2015
The Nirvana
Tracing the primordial culture of truth
in its oneness, we find the ultimate answer.
Still the negative effect prevails
increasing the confusion.
Existence in now, has a travesty of truth.
Can we breakaway from our past?
Can we exist between right and wrong?
Between good and evil?
Between truth and fiction?
How many faces has reality?
The Self amalgamates the formulations
provides the mind with the safe exits.
The visualization
was not a happening, not actuality
an escape from pain & reality?
The thoughts were always disturbing
creating a false identity.
Thoughtless self had no movement.
Was that the nirvana?
The final moksha?
Satish Verma, 2 lipca 2015
Intense Poetry
Breaking the path
by random steps, you move,
and thoughts make a ritual dance.
In a wingless flight,
a cosmic gloom envelops you.
You try to stop the dark tremors,
Yet you don’t feel safe in a crowd.
Life has changed
it does not touch the younder.
The brain does not work,
and memory is not authentic.
Emotions are bruised,
and time is becoming ruthless.
Knowledge explodes the myths,
and hurls the naked truths.
In a corner of my heart, a song dies
I refuse to listen, I decline to see,
a world crumbling before my eyes.
My unbeliefs engage,
the intense poetry,
of my turbulent mind,
to understand the virulent pain.
Satish Verma, 3 lipca 2015
Smashing The Road Signs
My garden cries for no reason.
Kindness melts into a rain
of twisted petals. And that is it.
Alone I whisper the translucent words,
watching the death of dreams, living fossils.
The sun bakes the seeds.
The essence will not heal,
this bandaged soul,
the conceptual death of a thought.
This fear is like a curled snake.
Must I abandon the path? I know,
I will not forgive me, at this dim joint.
I must move.
I do not know, what to think,
how to catch, the poetry of night.
The light blinks on my eyes.
I walk in the shadows of sounds,
smashing the road signs.
Satish Verma, 4 lipca 2015
Smashing The Road Signs
My garden cries for no reason.
Kindness melts into a rain
of twisted petals. And that is it.
Alone I whisper the translucent words,
watching the death of dreams, living fossils.
The sun bakes the seeds.
The essence will not heal,
this bandaged soul,
the conceptual death of a thought.
This fear is like a curled snake.
Must I abandon the path? I know,
I will not forgive me, at this dim joint.
I must move.
I do not know, what to think,
how to catch, the poetry of night.
The light blinks on my eyes.
I walk in the shadows of sounds,
smashing the road signs.
Satish Verma, 5 lipca 2015
Smashing The Road Signs
My garden cries for no reason.
Kindness melts into a rain
of twisted petals. And that is it.
Alone I whisper the translucent words,
watching the death of dreams, living fossils.
The sun bakes the seeds.
The essence will not heal,
this bandaged soul,
the conceptual death of a thought.
This fear is like a curled snake.
Must I abandon the path? I know,
I will not forgive me, at this dim joint.
I must move.
I do not know, what to think,
how to catch, the poetry of night.
The light blinks on my eyes.
I walk in the shadows of sounds,
smashing the road signs.
Satish Verma, 8 lipca 2015
A Hermit
Over the lake
moon was hounded out
from the dark clouds
into the defying blues.
The thick orbit hauled up the debris
of falling stars.
I was watching the crowd of centuries
piling up in history.
Global heat was settling
on the flutings
to start a black magic
of secret fear.
A hermit sitting on a glacier
melts into a cave.
God knows how the stunned
colossus will stand up.
Satish Verma, 8 lipca 2015
Holding My Toes
An evening primrose glides,
on my rough hands.
I pluck a laugh from the lips,
of a parched face.
It knows the meaning of death,
kissing the pink eyes.
Of the lost fidelity
and the innocence of the dying sun.
How to tell myself,
you are not coming.
Gradually the house,
will go back to its still air.
The white ants,
will draw a pattern
on the stale books.
The traffic of private tears,
will begin to move.
The truth is a happening,
with all the little gods.
I demand nothing,
only pink rose buds, of early winter.
There is no one to know,
that weeping grass,
keeps me touching,
holding my toes.
Satish Verma, 9 lipca 2015
Holding My Toes
An evening primrose glides,
on my rough hands.
I pluck a laugh from the lips,
of a parched face.
It knows the meaning of death,
kissing the pink eyes.
Of the lost fidelity
and the innocence of the dying sun.
How to tell myself,
you are not coming.
Gradually the house,
will go back to its still air.
The white ants,
will draw a pattern
on the stale books.
The traffic of private tears,
will begin to move.
The truth is a happening,
with all the little gods.
I demand nothing,
only pink rose buds, of early winter.
There is no one to know,
that weeping grass,
keeps me touching,
holding my toes.
Satish Verma, 10 lipca 2015
Chaste Words
How to begin
the journey of truth?
it was moving away from all paths.
No concrete answers were there,
questions loomed large,
a moaning confusion reigned.
I moved inward,
to open the door,
I had to talk to my poems.
A beautiful truth,
hangs on my thoughts disempowering.
Engaging the years, of twisted happenings.
It cannot be rude, must be palpable,
must be soft, like cactus bloom.
Never turning,
away from heat.
This repetition of reality,
always helps,
I may not listen to the voice,
of the other side of faith.
But the chaste words,
surround me with dignity.
Satish Verma, 11 lipca 2015
Deserted Wasteland
Life invades the truth.
Who cares?
The night was thin,
my eyes will search for stars.
Now pain travels,
backward from a smile?
A myth unfolds the terror,
of infinite tomorrows,
an escape from the eternity?
We will die,
only in our separate truths,
united by untruths.
Picking our poisonous arrows,
worshipping our griefs,
an invisible hand unclothes our past.
I ask myself was it the spectre,
fear of extinction?
Death will not shout,
it comes quietly.
Death by cancer or cirrhosis,
it comes sailing.
We were already dying,
without our clones
like a deserted wasteland,
with lethal seeds.
Satish Verma, 12 lipca 2015
A Handful Of Victories
Where death
and exotica meet,
life stands naked
in midst of our sacred hymns,
Shadow fighting is not actuality.
An essay on truth fades.
Someday I will pull down the curtain.
At the end of the road, death waits,
apologizing for coming unannounced.
A white cloud drifts in our arms.
The deep sorrow walks with us
and the empty home,
now belongs to moonlight.
In nothingness our achievement claims.
A handful of victories,
tossing here and there.
The empty words transport
the dark lies.
The truth lies bleeding,
and we flee,
from our predictions.
Satish Verma, 13 lipca 2015
Nowhere In Sight
I will cross the twilight zone
to meet you in zero space
negating the fear.
The mauled city
strikes the dumb sky
in unilateral war.
Coming from a bleeding torso
a scream agitates the dolls
playing with pebbles.
Flaming death will not leave footprints
Violence was not coming to stop.
It had many faces.
The very existence had no meaning.
Darkness, was coming down the hills.
Can you bring some flowers?
Sun was nowhere in sight?
Satish Verma, 15 lipca 2015
Featureless And White
This night of the long vigil
has betrayed my soul.
Columns of smoke arise
from the landscape of shrines.
There is no need now,
to sing the praise of oblique wars.
Truth has made
a big dent in my heart.
The tears of the bronze statue won’t stop,
they are mixed with blood.
Its pain for pain hurts the flesh.
Orphaned kids move in a circle,
their parched lips in silent prayer.
Remains of bread crumbs strewn on road.
The stench rises from the trash.
A face swims,
of our demolished culture.
Even the vultures are gone.
The dead and living start talking.
Tainted blood flows in dead veins.
Featureless & white.
Satish Verma, 17 lipca 2015
I Was Always Angry
Whole world hides
in your liquid eyes,
I need to return to my consciousness,
to change my verse.
The dry air has wiped out the beautiful words
sitting on the edge, of a meaning
I write a new song.
Discovering your forgotten self,
was a pain,
I always avoided.
Years touched me softly,
on the temples in vain.
Dumb I was with grief, threading a pile of memories,
to know my other self.
Somewhere a god smiles on me.
God of my mud & water,
wide open like a father,
who never died.
The moon slaughters my clouds.
I was always angry,
with my odd appearance.
Satish Verma, 18 lipca 2015
Fatigue Of Wasted Years
The wheels find,
the track on my body,
why do I shiver & tremble?
The night gives me the depth,
a grim reminder of realism.
The consortium of thorns,
the splinters float in my eyes.
The dignified seizure,
takes hold of your body
your mind writhes,
under the surface.
You hold head in agony.
Waking is more painful.
Is it worth that?
The biography celebrates,
the death of a god.
The negative virtue and,
upright truth clash,
in midst of worst weather.
The red tongue gives,
the hot sermons.
Fatigue of wasted years,
weigh heavily on my arms.
Satish Verma, 20 lipca 2015
A Hybrid Of Man
Confessional truth
is not my aggressive ego,
it is my fault.
The resolution of my conflicts with time,
the smell of the broken limbs,
my head in hoisted fever,
my eyes searching for a cloud.
The ultimate otherness,
of an idea baffles me.
Charity creates the misery,
you seek a window,
not the sky.
Looking for the gods,
enjoying the sweet depression,
of a pseudo-hurt.
I wanted the sanctity of a tree,
full of fragrant bloom.
To break the spell of hot arguments,
the fire of ideals,
projects self worship.
Town meets casually to select
a hybrid of man,
and a beast.
Satish Verma, 21 lipca 2015
Unfog The Sky
A stand-off between grass and moon
marginalized the perfume of night.
I was standing to read the graffiti
written by light and shade.
The planted kiss, the embrace, the trembling
legs have bricked in the trapped saint.
Where were the stars leading you
for the journey to the end of the bruises?
Some coarse absence of winged thoughts
had continued presence. It was blankness
without emotion, without movement. Can
you think without the past, without the future?
Step-by-step the malice, the lie within
the lie unfolds. Gives a deliberate shock
of self knowledge. I count the bonfires on
the hills. Coming up to unfog the sky.
Satish Verma, 22 lipca 2015
From Death To Death
What do I do with the words?
They hurt, they flourish without thoughts,
destroying the civilities.
The sky cannot hold the conflict.
The strange friction
of the image blurs the colors.
Love has become a cauldron.
A tough question
tries to penetrate in my skin.
I come out of my body,
peeling off the conflicts
from the timeless silence.
The voices of doom hang on the trees.
Somewhere the tears
turn into watermark.
Not afraid of afterlife
I am ready
from death to death.
Another autumn
will take away all my greens,
water & grace.
But primordial smile
has a history of matching a face,
with the dead.
Satish Verma, 24 lipca 2015
Windows Are Not Supporting
In the culture of self, and wilting idol
who was going to interpret the truth?
To resolve the inner conflicts
of an ailing mind?
I tell no one my validity,
my loss, and my sudden realization,
of a dying aura.
Give me a poem, a childhood, a dream
I wanted to live,
without maligning a mirror.
Without a cold-blooded
murder of truths.
Life was becoming a waiting in blackness for an
audience with god.
A thought sits whole life
on a ruined model of a truth,
trying to get freedom from the
celebrated events of greed and hate.
Windows are not supporting the light.
Time for the greens
to make a decision.
Satish Verma, 25 lipca 2015
Celebrating My Defeat
Skylit my bright atrium,
pumps the future.
Which becomes the today
righting the wrongs.
I want to go back
to my ancient furrows,
hibernate and sleep.
Let the life bloom on dead words.
In vitro a tiny face smiles.
Pink petalled
a crooked moon goes up in the sky.
Tangled thoughts resume
the search perceiving
the depth of the subway.
The waves splash on the rocks madly.
Celebrating my defeat,
I burn my books.
Cannot follow any path.
Lonely I trace
my truth in sands.
Wind communicates the disaster.
Still my hands
break the branches,
snap the thorns, bleeding.
Satish Verma, 26 lipca 2015
Unlearning
Everybody was in hurry to unpack
the sins and reshuffle the names
of burns, by taking a holy dip
in mauve lake. I wanted to defang them.
Acid attack had the inversion effect
on the expressions.
It was an obscene vision
unrolling the infant
for bleeding an opponent. The procession
moved on. Details never came out.
Only the flaming bodies, loud thuds
and the screaming virgins.
This was unlucky for the hutments,
fragile poles crumbled down, unspeakable
emptiness on the faces. Something has
to be unlearnt. Too much pain of
the knowledge. Ectopic pregnancy?
Satish Verma, 27 lipca 2015
Helix Now Uncoils
The pain of the night,
flows in the blood.
I move in the sun, hot & bruised.
From palace to hut,
clock moves backward in time.
The children of love are
going nowhere.
Space in space,
flame in flame
void fills the entire darkness.
The mutation was incomplete.
Unpetaled, roses are scattered.
The fruits of
impeccable perception went awry.
Helix now uncoils giving pain.
Futile strength wavers and the apex burns.
A glint throws the outlines in tizzy.
Sharp stings spread the venom.
A breathless anguish,
conjectures a dream of death.
Satish Verma, 28 lipca 2015
Helix Now Uncoils
The pain of the night,
flows in the blood.
I move in the sun, hot & bruised.
From palace to hut,
clock moves backward in time.
The children of love are
going nowhere.
Space in space,
flame in flame
void fills the entire darkness.
The mutation was incomplete.
Unpetaled, roses are scattered.
The fruits of
impeccable perception went awry.
Helix now uncoils giving pain.
Futile strength wavers and the apex burns.
A glint throws the outlines in tizzy.
Sharp stings spread the venom.
A breathless anguish,
conjectures a dream of death.
Satish Verma, 29 lipca 2015
A Cuckoo Sings
Rain, come again,
full of promise & truth.
0Endless onslaughts on my garden
have damaged the trees of light,
destroying my butterflies in dark.
Death was my private thing,
moon, come again.
Deep in my throat
a cuckoo sings for a queen of darkness,
to invite the mists & clouds,
I cannot speak for now.
Ancient history is repeating the story.
At dawn the shadows are gone.
From unknown to unknown
a thought moves
impinging the landmarks.
I pick up the nameless pebbles.
Time crashes, death and life play a game,
memories wear the grey
costumes of fear & pain.
Satish Verma, 30 lipca 2015
Shadows Are Thinning
No one owned the tears,
a tale of frozen pain,
prayed in dark,
making the silence harder to hear.
A classic fire scalds the monument of life.
A patch of grief here
and there, lets out the mystery.
A reclusive self
between window and moon,
unfeels the broken clouds,
bangs the sky.
Suffering the obscenities of the inverted earth,
life propels you to go empty hands
in your domain.
Shadows are thinning.
Waning moon crawls slowly
somebody said, catch me if you can,
my being.
The world never understood,
went on digging the holes
in the hearts,
burning the boots.
Satish Verma, 31 lipca 2015
In The Intermittent Love
The eerie exodus of rage
from crashing domes,
was the collective wisdom.
A complete thought,
walked with me like a shadow.
The long journey
for truth demanded clarity.
Life had not been fair,
path of death was endless.
The body poem from the sad
and gentle portrait crossed the line,
became a sculpture.
My silver verse died.
I was courting a white washed city.
The book of sorrow levitates,
Someday I will face the artist.
Sleepwalking I start.
Waking to your name
history was unmade.
My breath went heavier,
and my steps emptier.
The metaphors did’t kiss,
my innovations.
In the intermittent love,
hate was the topic.
Satish Verma, 1 sierpnia 2015
The Vacant Frame
Self – immolating silence
softens the pain, an art of solitude.
Evening drifts to come closer to moon.
Night is summer washed.
Small stars are trembling
on blue waves.
The night climbs down
from the brown hill.
Agony of life filters
in your eyes.
Unspoiled tears leave a trail of liberation.
Sorrow was insipid in your dark book.
Possessing a blue surge,
a nothingness bloomed
into a smile.
Space fills the dreams,
coarse picture and empty memories.
The vacant frame holds only the waiting.
Centre was gone.
The boundaries have captured
the colorless fragments of thought,
dry bones.
Satish Verma, 2 sierpnia 2015
Timeless Affair
Joining the names,
a nameless melancholia crosses a borderland,
between dreams & reality.
The stone face, a mask,
some nothingness transcends
the unhearing mind.
Tell me how much
you know about yourself?
Moon shaped pleasures
did not stir me, not ever.
The hours of a dark day moved
in pink fog, my heart
was bruised in a fall.
My infinite failures
saw the inversed truth.
Yellow was the rage, fire.
A perpetual leap from emptiness.
The flames were movements,
towards void.
The thoughts were circling over the flames.
Green windows open, shut, open.
My timeless affair with my self starts.
Satish Verma, 3 sierpnia 2015
Egocentric Wind
The matrix drinks the words,
in the anonymity of opaque meanings.
Heart slips a flutter,
to catch the unborn tomorrow.
The deep azure measures the depth, the fear,
drowning the architect,
generic of doom.
A dropp floats in an ocean of solitude,
a static milieu which has no quivering of its own.
The roots always give pain.
Your eyes are filled with tears.
Now final image
was a memoir of falling leaves.
The dark effect splinters,
into many seeds.
The space widens between us in a
hush of loneliness.
Egocentric wind scrapes our bones.
Satish Verma, 5 sierpnia 2015
Moth-Eaten
There was a geometric progression
in movement of truth and dreams.
Candles snuffed out in moon light,
were dripping bloody tears.
My lips tasted the salt,
accepted the basket of wounds.
A sacred gift, you still cannot read the eyes.
Night lifts a crescent moon
on slaughtered clouds.
Diaspora of stars burn their love poems.
I collect the pebbles to build a path.
The arthritic branches will never know,
how love was evaporated from the trees?
Signatures were
ahead of times, giving up,
their names to childhood.
We turned into dots.
The sorrow started an enquiry into wilting of words.
Life was to be read as a book,
pages moth-eaten and yellow.
Satish Verma, 6 sierpnia 2015
You Become A Stranger
Give me your lips
I have to drink the dark night.
It is the final assault
for tomorrow. The idea
becomes a journey.
I have to walk on water.
True dialogue starts
when stars are not with you.
I am standing on rooftop
scanning the sky.
Let me repeat the ascent,
the hill is younger than me.
It will settle the dispute,
man was taller than god.
You become a stranger
in your own drawn circle.
Life had the absurd walls
a wounded center.
Satish Verma, 7 sierpnia 2015
Wandering Fakir
Blood splatters on walls,
on earth. Erstwhile anointed idol
lies broken. Thatched roof was burning.
Navel crushed on the newspaper,
a rape was atoned by cash award.
A womb refuses to eject the ticking clock
wants to preserve the window of sin.
Mother do not cry for the ashen stranger
he will go to the roaring sea to wash the
bleeding corn, and the mouth.
Salt in the eyes is hurting. Paper thin
purple child becomes the player of death.
Appetite of flesh for nirvana has cuddled
the religion of grizzly bears. Be or not to
be makes a body formless and slapped.
River is waiting for the shoreline to show
respect for the wandering fakir. He comes
once in thousand years and crosses the dams.
World will kiss his tattered toga. He wanted
nothing, he gave nothing.
Satish Verma, 8 sierpnia 2015
White Roses
Mob hurts you
when you were standing alone in a crowd.
Bending like blade of grass
you accepted the rocks.
Your inner world broke down.
Softly you became a river,
flowing, meandering,
sucking the barriers.
The shivering relationship
puts off the mask,
a catastrophy or
liquidation of a frame took place?
With no regrets, life declares the fall of
our incorruptible icon.
The time and face
changed the color.
Farewell to truth was given!
For the poverty, the dirt;
the shriveled faces
god repented.
Dark lead the dark.
Blasts of anger did not help.
Few feet crossed the path of truth.
Stormy winds erased
the clusters of white roses.
Satish Verma, 9 sierpnia 2015
Carried My Father Unside
Mirror to mirror
a face floated in anguish
the mourning was deep
whenever inquest for truth was made.
Was it so terrible?
I cannot read the human face.
We were so used
to wear the masks.
Stoned and deaf,
fuzzy kiss of death levels the ferocious peak.
The nameless murder
of truth got a reward.
Garden of strange foliage
slurred on a song.
A metaphysical experience
sniffs the life.
Chained to the probity of the city
I bowed my head.
Reluctant to move in a procession of ugly months.
Lifetime’s nostalgia lifted a veil.
No sleep will descend.
I still carry
my father inside.
Satish Verma, 10 sierpnia 2015
Emptiness Was Screaming
When your lies pretend to be truths,
Your house becomes full of cadavers.
The reticent progeny,
you abandoned at birth, strikes.
My hands bleed, lifting the bones.
Actuality overwhelms the landscape
like molten lava.
Shadows in the sun, grow larger when,
we are dissecting the truth.
A daunting work to dig out the relics.
We have not modified our speech.
Ill tempered time
makes me insane.
I was not prepared for this calamity
losing my way in a jungle of untruths.
Mighty darkness
pierces the perennial thoughts
in the brain edifice,
knives were out all evening,
emptiness was screaming.
Satish Verma, 11 sierpnia 2015
Benediction
How sad you had been
without wholeness for the,
price of having broken shoulders?
The people were shedding their skins
to wear new masks.
I was haunted in my sleep.
Sun was not rising.
House to house from face to face,
death makes a pause.
Time sits for a while, when
we mourn in silence.
A scream halts in our throats.
In the courtyard a pungent smell spreads.
Atrophied limbs tremble.
The elegance foresakes the human touch.
The river dries up,
sucked in by laments of earth.
The unfolding of wounds
festers on cheeks.
Lips sluicing the grief,
spill benediction!
Satish Verma, 12 sierpnia 2015
Insult The Death
Blows had blackened the mist,
fear of crossing the road, dented the veil.
‘Ism’ versus the boundary had a long rhetoric.
I was struggling with scars of learning.
Pain unwrapped the gift of rhythm with confession
bitten by skorpios, blue and cold.
Finding the cause does not solve the rigidity.
Entering my own genome, increases the panic attack,
where I am heading after all?
And today sun beats the unentered thighs
marrow, blood of a martyr, who pledged
to die to himself between enquiry and truth.
Fragmented self now seeks totality
and the mystery of staying alive,
when the hills are dead and green had turned around.
As usual I am meditating, to live or not to live.
The greatness of earth still impresses,
it does not insult the death.
Satish Verma, 13 sierpnia 2015
The Air Was Scented
The tryst with path,
was full of voices of silence,
confronting its wrath & revenge.
Nothing was new, soft matter divided the winds,
arithmetic of energy,
faced up to its agony of spent life.
Decently artful,
you manipulated the clouds, its music,
the bluebells went into trance.
The shower laden
leaves started dancing.
Half solemn, half smiling
you preached the immortality
of a sick downloaded wisdom.
The golden days had
yellowed vision of time, but mutation was complete.
The masts were broken.
The air was scented with
punch & humility.
Adjectives had the
advantage over nouns.
Satish Verma, 14 sierpnia 2015
Face Of Truth
It hurts, the abstract isolation of life
emptying of self.
The infection
of water in the sun.
A nameless pain annihilates
the ascending desires.
I want no more
traffic of dreams.
Only discovery of Being.
Where the city had gone from the mirror
of my poems?
Streets had the color
of a wrinkled maid.
And new dictionary had new words
of an obscene vernacular.
I wanted my stack, my lake.
Surface exploded into nothingness.
The lake boiled in the heat of eternity.
A part of the evening was cool,
participating in the festivities
of homing birds.
It took a whole night
to see the face of truth!
Satish Verma, 15 sierpnia 2015
Heart Unsnaps
You gave me a name without asking.
History of my pain
did not need any label.
I recalled only
the blooms of bougainvillea,
not the heat which gave them color.
My burned lips
remembered only the dew
and rear view of life.
The total otherness of the moon and stars
did not heal the scars.
My perceptions had
given me hot tears.
How the distance between us
created the schizophrenia?
The familiar laughs
have frozen after all!
In the middle of night I lie awake
to count the door
and the closed windows.
I listen to the moaning of walls.
My eyes remained half-closed in freckled sleep.
Heart blinks, unsnaps
and weaves a moon.
Satish Verma, 16 sierpnia 2015
My Poems Wept
I had to let them stay.
My anguish & anxiety.
Denuding me, filling me with hymns of pain.
The blank days drifted in slow motion.
I tried to sing,
imitating the cuckoo on the tree,
to shake off the clouds from the eyes.
Everyday the pain was new,
dreams were old
in the eternal churning.
Grizzled clouds hanged on trees
for witnessing the chaining of desires.
Empty words went into seizures,
clogging the arteries of crisp brain.
Deep within a seed
opened the eyes sitting
quietly near the blast of pain.
Green sprouts drank the light.
My poems wept
and truth started a dance.
The time and space intermingled
to celebrate a birth.
Satish Verma, 18 sierpnia 2015
The Terrible
This terracotta urn
contains the ashes
of an earth-baked dream.
You worship the setting sun,
rape of dawn will continue.
Intravenous entry of hope
had failed.
Outside the window
crowd of heirlooms, falling like stars.
Thoughts come and go, we hunted opportunities in vain.
Tonight I will dropp the wheels
on the tarmac, to roll the pride.
My flight had knocked out
the sleeping pain. Now amnesia
will help me to climb on the moon’s shoulders.
They dragged her in the field,
the most deprived one. Was outraged.
I send you my grief, my sadness,
O, god. The flag was flying half mast,
rapist was absconding.
Satish Verma, 19 sierpnia 2015
Holding My Toes
An evening primrose glides,
on my rough hands.
I pluck a laugh from the lips,
of a parched face.
It knows the meaning of death,
kissing the pink eyes.
Of the lost fidelity
and the innocence of the dying sun.
How to tell myself,
you are not coming.
Gradually the house,
will go back to its still air.
The white ants,
will draw a pattern
on the stale books.
The traffic of private tears,
will begin to move.
The truth is a happening,
with all the little gods.
I demand nothing,
only pink rose buds, of early winter.
There is no one to know,
that weeping grass,
keeps me touching,
holding my toes.
Satish Verma, 20 sierpnia 2015
A Touch Of Class
The tree, the sky, the moon, of
summer prick the eyes.
We suffer majestically.
The aberrations will
now rule the city.
Incorruptible winds
languished in crooked lanes.
A pale hand will paint the unlatched doors.
When stars meditate in unison,
moon upcurves.
The blue becomes dark,
my eyes climb the hill.
The day has ended without a conclusion.
Clouds are frightened.
Virtue when cuts open the heart,
it does not bleed.
Pseudo reality reigns,
and we amputate the limbs without analgesics.
The philosophy of being
is quietly murdered.
Green leaves start dying.
A terrible dream flicks the hope,
a touch of class with littleness.
Satish Verma, 21 sierpnia 2015
Wet Landscape
A saddened rain dropp
strikes me at the face.
When town is burning,
its dignity confronts me with force.
A human clone rises
like a smoke from the ruins
of our nerves.
Why the love has evaporated
from our hearts?
In new spread of palaces,
upside down roots grow with regrets.
The dark woods depart,
small grasses peel off.
the wounds of earth.
Tomorrow the half glory
of our greed will be exhibited
and leaves will burn.
Now a clearing has been made.
Sun smiles, bakes the bones.
The water of life
has been denied to us.
Beaming technology buries the classical path,
the book and the eros.
The wet landscape cries.
Satish Verma, 22 sierpnia 2015
Humming Night
The enlightment drops words, things
I am at peace with the light,
the sand, the river.
The thought of non-being is subtle,
touches a cord.
Hours slip, silicon hardens.
Grains of truth move towards essence.
The thought of emptiness
was very powerful
I sit by myself, swallow a stunned voice.
My hands become white.
Inside of me was a book
holding a past. I hid nothing: my faultline.
It was a strange poverty.
I could not plug it,
a hole in memory.
The voices drip.
A moon-knife slices my room.
Far off a poem drifts, in blue nothingness.
The day was very ill
and night again humming
a tune of rising sun.
Satish Verma, 23 sierpnia 2015
Writing Its Diktat
Beyond the thoughts,
nothing I mourned,
nameless death was writing its diktat.
The dirty epithets were accepted for collage.
Simply a prayer was needed
for a childless truth.
Rudimentary terms owned
a beautiful diction.
The ultimate pain makes you dumb.
Words lose the vision, you walk in a hollow city.
Now is the time to remember the movement of truth
in a jungle of drums.
Eyes must find out the old path.
Huge crowds collect at the door.
Human connections are at strain.
The questions are never answered flawlessly.
Life should not burn like coal,
but be a tree,
in praise of sky,
wind and earth.
Satish Verma, 24 sierpnia 2015
Holds Me Green
The cult
catches you
like a black hole.
You cannot scale the walls -
slide back
in a crucible.
Like fried insects
crisp and dry.
Witch-hunt starts.
Sky was blue
in eyes,
winds will divide the space.
Do you need a mediator
to read between the lines?
To cross the fence?
Who sucked me dry?
Who leeched me white?
Death holds me green!
Satish Verma, 25 sierpnia 2015
Tracks Were Obliterated
The spirit of hollow ideal
was not the thing,
I remained inconsolable.
Truth demanded endless pursuit.
The helplessness of the beaten days
was unfit for the night of terror.
The false paradigm could not ignite the flame.
The shadows collapsed
and thoughts walked in dark
into the trap.
Perfect splash of impulsive drive,
and movement of matter
created hallucinations.
and the conduct of freezing moments
had no parallel.
Cutting edge was evident.
How truth saved its pain,
of telling a heart
the death of a silent dream.
The vision went blind.
Faithful figures did not write the wrong texts.
Escape from territory was complete
and tracks were obliterated.
Satish Verma, 26 sierpnia 2015
Untitled Monument
Beyond the self,
is the freedom, unchained dawn,
I am in a crowd of voices.
Lifted by songs,
a bruised truth becomes a rose.
Choice was limited,
I desired silence, middle path in night,
under the lunar ecstasy.
Nowhere to go
I searched for tranquility, peace and light.
Failing hopelessly.
Love migrates back to old memories.
White days are pruned,
I would say the mirror was wrong.
I did not choose my life.
Dream of final
release was extraordinary
grandeur of pink moon
hanging on the trees,
the divine shower.
Life did not alter the genes,
it shifted the flow.
Untitled monument was submerged.
Satish Verma, 27 sierpnia 2015
Thorniness
In ascending numbness
you can think clearly at night
and see the half-moon throwing
the silhouettes in dim light.
I suffer in my poems,
foretelling of a sinking flame
insulting the roots.
The rising failure, like visitation
of Icarus shooting from the surface
in pain. An answer without questions
erupts wearing a death-mask. Was
it a speculation of claustrophilia
carrying a prism? The marbled
globes are melting. The danger
was evident,
you can smell it.
Touché.
Satish Verma, 28 sierpnia 2015
Separated Our Lives
Shadows were talking,
we arrived nowhere.
Text was smaller than life.
Millennium hung on our eyes,
rattling the long distance calls.
Our house was ruined,
multiple windows
turned into walls and poems died.
Your face has become an empty vase.
Dismembered cast off
in the corner of the house.
A dreadful ruffled
body of the past glory.
I was nearly buried in quick sand.
Now I talk to trees, the carpeted clouds,
and move again.
My hands suffered
lifting the polarities.
Random tears disturbing the heart beats.
Knowledge was painful
and diminutive people spoiled my collections.
The stones, flowers
and wings separated our lives.
Satish Verma, 29 sierpnia 2015
Burnt Taste
A cyan globe
rolling in the black sky.
I was visualizing
an earthset
on the horizon.
Lianas
threw a noose
around my neck.
Did I
start the fires?
My dissent
was of any relevance?
Who was standing
on the moon?
Self-centered was your vision
I was trying
to turn the tide.
So much bragging
could not go well with me.
The tongue had the burnt taste.
Satish Verma, 30 sierpnia 2015
It Is Too Dark
Forgetting the ultimate name
of clean truth
the essence of time latched on to the dangerous arguments.
Something went wrong.
I watched the foot crumbling,
everything was moving towards dark.
I wiped the magnifying glass
to witness the hunger
of everyday life,
blue veins of the shriveled legs.
Sinking deep in smeared eyes,
a panic leaps.
Nothingness to nothingness,
I could not use any syntax.
Repeating same sentences,
you are lost in labyrinth stabbing the walls.
Sunset will send
the blurred sparrows to home.
Antiquity will become a burden.
I am restless, a candle must be lighted,
It is too dark.
Satish Verma, 31 sierpnia 2015
On Burning Coals
Loneliness of non-being and,
reality, fill up the vessel.
I search for the eloquence while,
emptiness will be my forte.
Countless words are crossing
like a promise in milk-white days
I gather sunlight through grass leaves.
Life had been full of shadows,
lengthening, penetrating
the tapestry of love.
The descent was steep.
Coming home I found
no humming words.
Sitting in dark
I wait for shooting stars.
Measuring the blood, drawn from our hurts
was a royal reward
for your fingers.
You are allowed to compare blood
with brown coffee.
Sand in our eyes,
we walked bare-foot
on burning coals.
Satish Verma, 1 września 2015
Erected In My Pain
Life gives you a sudden shock,
with ugly scars of mutilated truth.
Arriving becomes a failure,
a tilted faith.
Your eyes were blank but
you were seeing through
your hundred wounds,
spinning in the import.
Continuity of lies starts again.
From post to post
a sting was preoccupied,
fed on odium.
I had an indestructible desire
to set the throat free
from the obtrusive rust.
Love was not enough
a little bit burning on tongue was needed.
Polity has ruined
the green valleys
quietness cries in vain.
Fear in the mirror strikes.
I begin to run towards the sun
erected in my pain.
Times alter the image.
The cosmic bend is trapped.
Satish Verma, 6 września 2015
Return To Myself
Dumbly you come
to the brink of a precipice,
at the point of no return.
Moving, pivoting with
a huge perception.
Knowing that life was exacting,
you are alive,
alone with a conflict.
Your choosing was a miracle.
Seeking was not ending.
Death was an inadvertent mistake.
You lie down in terror.
Deep in the bones you know, you have to move.
There was no cloud above the eyes,
history was an aberration-
rags to riches.
You become yourself
when death defines a name
and I remember a sunset.
My shaking fingers
weave a drape of sorrow.
There was no patch of green
I return to myself.
Satish Verma, 7 września 2015
Gift Of Love
Between the blue eyes,
wind smeared a hot kiss
on forehead of moon.
There were no half-brothers to watch.
Swarms of thoughts descended
in zero hour of night.
Sadness was beyond threshold
a crucial insult to the arrival of time.
Now I was not going anywhere
I was afraid of myself.
The centre was disappearing,
in the statements of truth.
Pleas are falling apart in
global freezing, of collective brain.
I start sifting through the leaves
a gift of love, my fruit.
Satish Verma, 8 września 2015
Golden Sunset
Gently the invisible
strength overrides
penetrating every bone.
The desire was not seeking,
it was emitting a gloss.
Fierce truth was reverberating.
Only the mind was alert,
flesh was hissing.
An intense light
knived my sadness, death wish
it was a legend, I went into a process.
A quietness catching
all the voices of disharmony.
Word by word vocabulary
filtered in my heart.
Priests were prophesying doom.
Instant attention gave a passage,
uncontaminated, closer to the truth.
Gloom was glorified.
Scissors had done their job, few will remember the designs.
I should now think
of a golden sunset.
Satish Verma, 9 września 2015
Street Fighting
Timeless pain and,
painless time were two colors.
On the canvas,
I was spreading, to open the heart.
Non-being touching the vast emptiness.
Life on the moment, played the abstract music.
Was it the fear of blindness?
Indecipherable handwriting creates puzzles,
my laments cannot read.
Truth marches on my bones,
dead bodies do not count.
The interrupted meanings
are taking their tolls.
On the track,
blueprints are fluttering.
Whom do we complain?
Foliage was without fruits
and roots were dying.
And land smelled of hurts,
sweat and tears.
Unbroken oaths and
tools had disappeared.
And street fighting
had overwhelmed the crescent moon.
Satish Verma, 10 września 2015
Incontinence
Let me change the contours of life,
polluted mind-set.
Spider webs have
elective sites of emotions.
I want to open a new range,
to locate the corrupt moments.
Turn over your face,
let me find the scars.
The soaring pinnacle,
fatherless fame, were declining.
The rot was setting on
the fresco of the wall.
Aspiring for god-head
they have choked the fluiting.
Hands and eyes are cadaverous,
unmoving. Sun is burning very hot.
Not tomorrow,
today we have to bid farewell
to neutral day.
Life will not spare the casting.
Too much mist
has settled on the eyes,
raining madness on the road.
Month and years
are giving incontinence.
Satish Verma, 11 września 2015
Between Two Centuries
Choice was washing the guilt
or keeping mind shut.
Microscopic deterioration
in the brain had set in.
The monologue of humility
was not relevant for the flame ritual.
They said the death was a dropp of wine.
Immoral alchemy had
broken the enormous myth.
The electrons went crazy,
they orbited like hungry eagles.
Truth was never the same.
Fading age wears new wrinkles,
black on black rose praises the air.
The return of grief, was very evident.
Eyes blinked endlessly,
I too lifted the pleated pain.
Enzyme of new creation
was worthless.
We were walking
into an epic, oscillating
between two centuries.
Satish Verma, 12 września 2015
Scent Will Be Buried
This way it was
this way it happened
I could not run along the river.
Your face floats
like a skylamp.
Halfway rainbow was broken.
How did it happen?
I became transgenic
by the kiss of death.
This was my victory
I surrendered the cushion.
You sleep in my arms.
Again I will wander
in the graveyard
where my angel was sleeping.
This is my last letter
in the month November
Now the scent will be buried in snow.
Satish Verma, 13 września 2015
Sky Weeps
My fear becomes the courage
to pursue the truth,
the basic abandonement.
I must go after the dark
stepping on hot leads of pain.
Truth does not stalk,
it burns the fingers on your face
for a self-portrait.
Evidence of borders gives
the catastrophic miss
let us abolish the centre.
No body will now
measure the distance.
We will move at periphery
on a trajectory of truth
within the eternity
of larger boundary.
Why you live in future,
opposing today,
to put away the past?
That was my eternal question.
You felled a tree with a terrible bang.
My heart aches.
Water moves in sudden spurts
of nightmare. Sky weeps.
Satish Verma, 14 września 2015
Stench Of Death
Why do you run away
from the primordial fear?
Of tight emptiness?
A shapeless entity of drifting psyche?
This was your home
where carcasses of cliches
hang from the doors of wisdom.
Unplanted seeds
of vacant connotations.
Inch by inch you were eating
your prophetic pauses
salt had become tasteless.
Counting the kisses of
moths on the screen
a candle burned furiously.
I never picked the colors of cloud, of rain, of blood.
What becomes of happening,
of being, of reaching?
The stones of truth are very sharp.
The roads were conspiring
insects collecting, under the surface.
Circling winds had
a heavy stench of death
but words were very intelligent.
Satish Verma, 15 września 2015
Galaxy Of Fame
When you try to find fire
in edifice of whispers,
you are badly singed,
the wronged truths demand scrutiny.
Fabulous smoke settles
on false statements.
The tunneled thoughts sway.
Epithets rise and plunge
in clefts of chastity,
remedying for sorrow and grief,
for death and pain.
Between us what has been left of truth?
Life had been a travelogue of designs,
inwardly we all are burned out.
I am frightened.
The probing must be painful,
conclusions will finally
dissect the superlatives.
Gloved hands will become visible,
which killed the innocent sparrows
in the galaxy of fame.
Ostatnie komentarze:
30 czerwca 2025
violetta
Moja siostra jest teraz na Korfu :) piękny wiersz:)
30 czerwca 2025
Niezmiernie cieszę się:)
30 czerwca 2025
Tak i są przeróżne:)
30 czerwca 2025
ajw
Uwielbiam tę ulotność chwili..
29 czerwca 2025
Jaga
Strach na postrach, a dlaczego?/ wróbel na pszenicy
29 czerwca 2025
sam53
na jednym drzewie bardzo słodkie, a te późniejsze
29 czerwca 2025
Podziękowanie to mało, ale dziękuję :)))
29 czerwca 2025
Wokół kręgu :)
29 czerwca 2025
Słoneczniki już kwitną :)
29 czerwca 2025
A czereśnie wyjątkowo słodkie tego lata.
29 czerwca 2025
Przepiękny wiersz, miło się czyta Twoje romantyzmy.
29 czerwca 2025
Taka upór jest w wierszu:)
30 czerwca 2025
wiesiek
30 czerwca 2025
ajw
29 czerwca 2025
wiesiek
28 czerwca 2025
sam53
28 czerwca 2025
Arsis
28 czerwca 2025
violetta
28 czerwca 2025
dobrosław77
28 czerwca 2025
Istar
27 czerwca 2025
Yaro
27 czerwca 2025
Jaga