Satish Verma, 11 kwietnia 2024
Sometimes it
was better, not to know the
intrigues of temples.
Nude bodies on
ancient walls beseech all day
for liberation.
A love story will
always fascinate you, with
a gender healing.
Satish Verma, 10 kwietnia 2024
Sitting at seeding
time, tasting elixir of death
before you were born.
Can you tell me, how
much I had lived with you
without tragedies?
Blackout filters
the light to come to eyes.
I don't want to see end.
Satish Verma, 8 kwietnia 2024
The kindness drips,
when you stop writing about
yourself in sun.
The war continues
between dust and stars under
the gaze of Agni.
Part by part you
are throwing your flesh
to red eagles.
Satish Verma, 7 kwietnia 2024
In my smallness
I think tall. Nymphs want to
become ageless.
Black earth moves
the moon― Spirits were
saddened. Mayflies.
Would die in one
day. The wholeness has a
purpose to kill.
Satish Verma, 5 kwietnia 2024
Walking in sleep
you tiptoed as if gliding
on the cold water.
The forest weeps.
Burning and billowing
for the deathless mind.
No slogans. I will
wear the hijab of moon
to meet my lover.
Satish Verma, 4 kwietnia 2024
You are in
anaphylaxis. A prayer
on the blue lips.
The weightless time
knows the secret of past
and future game.
The incisors of
ancient skull of Lucy
had remained intact.
Satish Verma, 3 kwietnia 2024
I dream to you.
You were moving like a space
rock ready to collide.
Everyone reaches
to one's own end any day.
What would you carry?
You may need to
sedate yourself. It is a
long pain to live.
Satish Verma, 2 kwietnia 2024
The troubled mind
seeks boundless words
for eccentricity.
You grab the hidden
kiss. Give me the smile
of a mooned heart.
At dusk you will talk
with eyes, trembling hands
igniting dry tips.
Satish Verma, 29 marca 2024
You teach me to
cry for the lost future after
yestergain offered
In a sacrifice
ritual. Blue lines are
appearing on my hands.
The child was walking
towards moon at apogee
but light was very dim.
Satish Verma, 28 marca 2024
Who had punished
the earth? Her head of moon
felled off at guillotine.
Let go. I am afraid
of myself. It is no time to
commensurate with love.
What was unsaid, will
speak eyes on their own. Give back
my basket of roses.
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