Satish Verma, 29 listopada 2015
For a patch of happiness
you rushed into the arms
of clouds. Only to fall back with tears.
The glazing authority of moon
hangs on the poverty of spiked wisdom.
Betrayal is the norm of celestial thinking;
how can you accept a dropp of death?
What is your motive
in watching the pain?
A path, a tunnel,
a precipice. The collage of purity
has the innocence of sorrow.
And truth, sails like a phoenix.
There is complete silence.
The flameless fire collapses
lapping up the anger.
Pouring out all the heart beats,
emptying the mind
darkness lowers the wheels
between muscles and bones.
Your body is eaten half by dusty thoughts.
Claustrophobia chokes the little stanzas
you are afraid, some one cares for you.
Satish Verma, 30 listopada 2015
Joining the seams for the sake of probity
you opt for the wages of truth.
Staying hungry to read the cosmos,
connecting the meditation to love
denatured. You are afraid of losing
the thread. Memory of infidelity of conceivement.
A vision without the thought
was a consecration
to think or not to think
was a great dilemma.
A backdropp of the prisms
always made you crazy.
Listening without ears,
seeing without eyes
became a brilliant idea.
Children of grief coming through
the open doorways
of mind. Soul mates.
I dream of a desperate ending
of midnight journey into song inviolate.
What if the night ends
without a human face?
Body becomes the path unending.
Satish Verma, 1 grudnia 2015
Must we go beyond
the black holes of burned books?
The flight from the edge of circles
leaves the dust behind.
Inside our wings are embedded
the years. In the sky
we must part. The parallax is here.
I will pursue the centuries
circling over the memories.
A single page flutters,
rest of the book is silent
not skillful technicality,
only a smuggled simplicity.
I fall into the stillness
of a ceaseless motion,
fall into yesterday.
The feeling to put out
the bright candle is very strong.
A burning solitude.
Face to face with motionless dream
the wide space between letters unfold a meaning.
The absence of central thought
was the essence.
Refusing to churn the evidence,
we forgot that our territories could,
not hold the bliss of another self,
of another relay.
Satish Verma, 2 grudnia 2015
The family evolved from
virtue to virtual image.
I wanted to exhume the body of truth.
Half-way we went to the moon,
half-naked was the bluff.
No choosing, no judging helped.
I saw the fear in eyes.
You found the inside was out
behind the words overnight.
The fountains were dressed up in neon,
something new was in air,
the forked tongues were hissing an arrival.
Cupped mirrors were reflecting the lure
of the city. Thirst was absent.
It was hunger in the heart.
You face had a bleak shade
Darkness? I hide my scent.
Snakes were visible in the bush!
Satish Verma, 3 grudnia 2015
When I touched your pshyche,
my completeness wavered.
In the empty words
and hollow thoughts.
The road to my dream house burned.
I longed to meet my flame.
You were listening to declaration of truth.
It was a refuge,
there was no evidence
of any movement of humanity.
My soft mind took the imprint
of golden spaces between
the dark alleys of earth.
The skeletons of history remained unclaimed.
Remembering your trust
My attachment floats. Anxiety
of seeking. The dust smears
the face of epileptic truth.
The clogged arteries of mundane heart twitch.
There wasn’t room for sentiments.
Moment to moment I travelled
to break the silence in vain.
Satish Verma, 4 grudnia 2015
Timeless I dream about
a sleepwaking into death,
inside me. Lifting in sound
and the wet silence.
The boisterous stream of years rolls down
like the debris of earthquake
from the hill. Life casts out
the pretentions,
throws the tears at my gate.
That was not me,
the smoke from the footprints
the failed virtue.
Black sweat of my arms started,
the disposition of blind truth.
The enquiry provoked
a further dialogue between time
and sun tanned cancer of a city.
The death of a whistle blower.
In the stillness of mind,
I enter to meet the mauled self.
In the wordless flesh a drama unfolds.
The tongue fixes
the blame of a desireless god
sees only a shining darkness
of a suspended faith.
And a mad fadeout, amputates
the linear thoughts.
Satish Verma, 5 grudnia 2015
It was very transparent
death of the shadow;
life moved without it.
We both had seen a huge hunger
and the veil of poverty,
and a cult of familiar lies in
ancient puddles of guilt.
There was no mourning. Love
and hate shaped the duality.
Life and death moved
hand in hand running in mystic silence.
Some thing has evaporated like
a spirit from the wreckage
of emptiness. A witch hunt
started to find the clarity.
A flower melted into a book
a primitive instinct was there
to survive.
My blue valley burns,
I stay attuned to fog.
Smoke and slap of winds.
calling up the sky.
Illusion of peace shattering
the night. The soaring soul floats on
the serene aura of solitude.
I don’t want to wake up again
Satish Verma, 6 grudnia 2015
Who am I to know
the abstract silence
when you drink the moonlight all alone?
The black toes of a dying woman
haunt me in a stream
of white shrouds. A night
of shattering perceptions,
defaults and ignorance.
Time bomb was ticking.
It had been troubling me
the betrayals in night
mothering a vegetable past.
A single finger defines
the authority of future.
I traced the proud shadows of a god for,
a useless reference of illegible wisdom,
untold misery of green waves mirrored in sky.
For extracting death
from life at every step
I knew the answer.
Dying was not a private thing.
The truth and the path would die.
How you dreaded the closed doors?
The explicit fear of drowning
in beliefs with brothers of
sorrow and feet of clay.
Satish Verma, 7 grudnia 2015
Turning me blue
blithe thoughts had come like snakes
wriggling, biting, leaving tooth marks.
I remained holding a dew drop
on the blade of grass.
Essence was untouched.
Night will change its dialect
after a casual death.
I contrive no more assemblage.
No condolence for the razed home.
The flames will leap again from words
to describe the inspiration, as the
sprouts break the earth.
When the logic ends
a kiss melts on the lips of fire.
The rainbow pierces the clouds
At the interface of sky.
Satish Verma, 8 grudnia 2015
Death has been my partner,
my best friend.
Every day the fear,
greets me in my bed,
and body starts dying.
I join the play.
The sun clips the clouds,
my lungs fills with aroma.
A golden bird starts singing
on the swaying leaves of palm.
Death smears me with ideas,
larger than pain
before and after it was foggy.
I sleep, half-opened eyes,
watching over with face
to the window.
Life moves from grief to grief.
A tiny seed pulsates
in the crevice of mind,
I love a view like that.
One hundred moons
and a dying sun.
An immence contrast.
Whom shall I choose as a prologue?
I cannot tread the center
of unborn story. The clouds
are always crimson before
the night. Life has
a shadow of death – and a strange
relationship survives.
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