Najnowsze prace:
Satish Verma, 17 grudnia 2018
The Stranger
Ready to pounce on
a scarecrow.
The ants were hungry.
It was a dried bone―
frame, wearing the royal
costume, waiting for the moon.
Can you play with the
jewels and still
remain poor?
The suckers refuse to
shrink, taking away skin,
the eyes, the ears.
It overwhelms the loneliness,
the silence, the colossus,
and the two-faced king in making.
Satish Verma, 16 grudnia 2018
This Kind Of Time
What noun was combative,
enduring the poison, when
you were subject of―
the history, which will
remain unwritten?
The war was on, in the
night of terror. You cannot
reach the extremeties, for the
sake of modesty. Violence
sits in speech, in dirty words.
The flesh needs new blood,
and blood demands the bone
of justice that will not―
conceive mutilation. You become
benevolent in spreading the fear.
Satish Verma, 15 grudnia 2018
Living Dangerously
A moon interrupted;
riles the social class.
A native sense comes of age.
Piercing stare becomes rarefied,
unbuttons the peaks and
kills you with a mallet.
The scared mask falls
off the divine embrace, lets
free the pigeons from the golden cage.
The forked tongue will
speak only truth. Blood
was the only stain, washed easily.
I will get the tan
in moonlight only. My scars
will remain invisible in silver.
Satish Verma, 10 grudnia 2018
Deciduously
You did not want to play―
into the strength,
of the other.
Wrecking the pecking order,
to become poorer,
giving away your entire height?
I could live,
without your blasts, O sun,
but I need my moon,
for whole night.
It pervades,
the dark matter, in every pore.
Like gingko tree
I will drop all the pretentions
tonight, and become leafless.
Satish Verma, 9 grudnia 2018
Being Watched
The one happening;
which never happned.
A slice of mock invasion on
inner sanctum to find your own name.
Who were you?
A mind not on the mend? A
house you were not living in?
The forecast was wary of strangers.
A deadly intent was hurling
the desires onto the stones
of eyes. A fog hides the melt.
You were not ready for syntax,
a rhyme breaks into sobs.
Washed by pain, a sting
becomes the poem.
Satish Verma, 8 grudnia 2018
Oh God
Impromptu, word by
word, I will anoint you
with poetry.
*
Moon was sinking
slowly, watching me
reciting an elegy.
*
The gates were still
closed, for the candle
bearers to stand vigil.
Satish Verma, 7 grudnia 2018
In Quicksand
It is the truth which
never was. After many
deaths I will come to you
to repeal my verses.
The festering earth was
making the rains green,
to suck the dry sands
thrown by the angry winds.
The soul upturns the body.
You will crawl in a tunnel
to come out for sedation
accepting the karma.
A non-acceptance of the
straitjacket. Let the anxiety
rise like a beast.
Satish Verma, 6 grudnia 2018
No Coming And Going
Defrosting,
the mutability of homicide.
You were lost in dreams
stoking the protests of eyes.
What were the explicit
suggestive remarks?
A personality disorder for going back
to pyramids and searching the priest?
Embrace the death, who
says. The pavallion was empty.
Game was over and boys had
gone to dethrone the kissed thief.
The questions run, trailing
the path. What was the nature
of this thought, I say when
sky was infinite?
Satish Verma, 5 grudnia 2018
Waist-High Sunk
When you release the
words, your curled fingers
burst into flame.
It was an ancient filth,
a bird fighting in the mud-
house of quote-unquote.
Someone navigated
over the bald heads to find
a landing place for a cuckoo.
Between real and fiction,
you cannot write a hymn
in praise of satan, called god.
I am done with the darkness
all around, and rip open
the wall to let in the jupiter.
Satish Verma, 4 grudnia 2018
Some Questions
The black holes ringed
the galaxy. Tainted
moon, was in tow.
*
Any generational gap
was evident between
Neanderthals and humans?
*
How our brain works
I wanted to know?
Are there any real men?
Satish Verma, 3 grudnia 2018
Overbalancing
The space between the
two ends, was becoming
a game of thorns.
The leprous increase
tips the moon. An unseen
virgin becomes red rose.
It was another day in
the desert. I don't want
to become a prophet.
A titular sun was
collecting the lilies to
divide the night in halves.
Manipulating the nucleus,
are you ready to accept
the uncommitted sin?
Satish Verma, 2 grudnia 2018
Fair Play
When God kings come―
down stealthly,
it is your waking time.
You had never counted the awards.
Refrained from watching the oblation.
When blood pooled on
the floor, you were holding
a love child of moon
and earth.
Do you think a collateral
damage will ensue, when you
chart out the trajectory of missiles?
The incredible ink will not
go dry on the tongue, when you
read a ghazal of indomitable
pen.
Today I climb a red
mountain to know my height.
Satish Verma, 1 grudnia 2018
The Eternal Quest
You cast doubt,
on the definition.
Gods play with words,
like winged fruits,
Man becomes the spawn of destiny.
Sparrows were flying
out. I will watch―
the window closed. A slant of
light withers away.
I am writing my poems in dark.
The vintage rings under
the eyes, will retrieve
the lost meaning of
truth, from the ruins of
time. I will again start my pilgrimage.
Satish Verma, 30 listopada 2018
Wounded Veils
Some question?
It always haunted me.
In combat posture,
why would I become a child?
To cry and learn a laugh?
Karma?
A green memory,
of the shade of bougainvillea's
arbor, entwining the wooden pain
of my frame, to know
the faith of water, improvidently
creating the false interiors.
How far was the home?
You want to toe the
peace of garden, blue sky
and dark night.
Satish Verma, 29 listopada 2018
Unconclusive
O stark avenger,
Time.
I will come on your lapses,
when every moment,
tells a lie.
Was it wrong time?
To ask the poem go,
binary?
on a fringe thought?
Has the angst a right,
to explore the fast moving
mind, to experiment
with the answer?
We are on the crossroads,
to know ourselves,
driven by the fragrance,
man-made.
The words are only transient!
Satish Verma, 28 listopada 2018
The Middle Ground
I try to think,
not to think of you;
cede hope to candor.
You will not contribute,
to your own rape, of truth;
rediscovering the shame.
The modesty will not sit
on the stigmata.
Moths were becoming defiant.
Copiously drenched,
under the wet moon,
a poem will seek a title.
It returns back, the
kiss, you sent for the flame.
It was very hot, the farewell.
Satish Verma, 27 listopada 2018
Evoking Images
It was not easy to recall,
the love in truancy. Needs
extra gene. I would wake up in blue
darkness for an aubade.
The salt glitters when I
shut the mind.
In random wreckage,
the first glow before dawn,
sets you on fire. A star gazing
begins, buried in the flesh, only
the eyes protruding, incapable
to locate the moon.
A blank paper floats. You
were surfing on words. Not
yet to meet the inevitable. Not
the kiss of hurt. I am coming
to unfurl the opus, the
noble commitment of navel crossing.
Satish Verma, 26 listopada 2018
Untold Journey
It does not make any sense
to go beyond, where the road ends.
He was searching the meaning
of life. Moving out of comfort zone
to Roman cave.
Émigré to chessboard,
he will stop pushing the game.
But what about the demons―
sitting on my chest, in cahoots with the nails?
Somebody walks into assassin's
trap. Somebody's bread does not
reach the home.
A child will ask, when my
father will return? There was no answer.
The tide has brought back
the ashes.
Satish Verma, 25 listopada 2018
Streaking Alone
Like sly coyotes
you move around
the fireballs. You switch off
the earthly lights. They are
now oranges. Presently
a broker will sell the wounds
of the moon.
Why did you feel sad of something
which was unsaid? A thousand
and one words will speak
when the poem would be brought
dead. You are not here
not in the nakedness of lies, when
something glitters which was not yellow.
The twilight now settles
in your eyes. Moon refuses to
plunge into darkness.
Satish Verma, 24 listopada 2018
Flares
There was no secret
among mountains.
Clouds were their adopted siblings.
*
Only the rain drops
were dancing.
The mounts stand still.
*
I beg your leave.
The spring has invited.
I have to meet the yellow blooms.
Satish Verma, 23 listopada 2018
Unrisen Horizon
Take off the glasses and
look at it closely, the infant
universe of the ―
receding age.
I said, weapons should not
be allowed to speak, cheating
the all terrain of
humankind.
The legality has to be
defined to earn the daily
bread for impregnable
hunger.
Whatsoever, there was no
precedence to take the occult
into the homes of non-
committal voices.
You become the temple
without god, who was
waiting at the gate.
Satish Verma, 22 listopada 2018
In Disguise
Raising the walls
around you, you started
a ritual of placing a single
rose on the tomb daily.
Trapped in the blues,
there was a killer instinct
to destroy the self.
I become a flame,
passing through the flesh
eroding the body's mystique.
The ravage words
now sleep. A dying
moon will set the
night free.
It was an invasion by
deathless roots at night.
A slow music starts by puppeteers
to undo the potter's field.
Satish Verma, 21 listopada 2018
Frightening
The winds ruffle the
solitude. Sparrows were
watching me.
*
My name was floating
in dark. I want to burn the
book, to throw some light.
*
Violence will toss
you around, when you
are wearing the grass.
Satish Verma, 20 listopada 2018
Sacred Committment
Under the holy basil,
lighting the earthen lamp,
whom do you invoke at dusk?
*
A needle pricks your finger.
You smear the blood
on your face.
*
It was the flame of forest
which ignites the path,
you wanted to tread on.
Satish Verma, 19 listopada 2018
Endless Search
Moon was not faraway.
It rejected the evidence against the rhyme
and proceeded to release
the poem.
The colored bracts of
bougainvillea, fall solemnly, to kiss
the grass. Spring was around
the corner.
Quizzing a stone, a dream
crashes in my hands;
becomes a tiger moth and
settles on your lips.
Future turns into a shell.
I pick it up from the beach of time.
Play with it for sometime and
give it away to my offspring.
It was the beginning. It was the end.
Satish Verma, 17 listopada 2018
Blue Valley
A tiny doubt sends out
the solvos. Self on fire,
you want to bail out the hierarchy.
Physically imperfect, a star
ejects the charged rays.
There was no secret of coronal
mass. You were taking a dip
in golden plumes of nirvana.
No suffering, no remorse.
A slice of moon will heal.
In your path lies the gray earth.
Who will incite the ocean now?
A transient truce will not give
you the leaping death of
valley. The clouds will take there own revenge.
Satish Verma, 16 listopada 2018
The Nature
Unmaking the bond
between cause and effect.
You start throwing stones
as a mark of intimacy.
Ipomea:
You wanted to learn the
art of blooming silently
at dawn.
Huddled like solar flares
before colliding with
a drift, you wanted me to live
for eternity.
Watching sperm dance
without tails
in bell jar.
It was barely visible.
Cultivating a digital entry.
This was becoming
a terror-haven.
Satish Verma, 15 listopada 2018
Not Holding
Not begging,
for a native dream;
hiding an ocean in the eyes.
The hills were trembling.
I am going to cross the river,
of flames.
I am sitting on the dirt floor,
counting the cowries.
This was my home,
that was my book.
Playing the game of death.
What had you written, O god
with your quivering hand.
I am still following a riderless horse.
Not the least. Any want...
Give back my blank page.
Satish Verma, 14 listopada 2018
Assaying
Sailing,
triangulating the body.
I will not come for the false blues.
You dig out the bones-
to evaluate the sickle,
that failed to trim the dark.
The murder was clean.
A religion lies beheaded.
Anaerobic, the poem survived.
The animal smell,
stays.Overpowers the limbs.
You run blindfolded.
The crickets emit an omen.
A sulfur burns.
The yellow sun was rising.
Satish Verma, 13 listopada 2018
Unjointed Time
Let the untold suffering
settle the incompleteness of truth.
You have to move out―
making space.
The empty chair fills in
at dark. I talk to my father,
daily about the remains of life
and falling debris.
A son does not want to
know the futurity. A dazed poet
will write the history of ruins
which was younger than memory.
A resilience still brings me
face to face with the gods of dead souls.
Satish Verma, 12 listopada 2018
Eternal Nothingness
A dirty word
waits for the chilling moon.
Be aware now. I am
going to ask the black mountain.
There was no credible
reason, why did you wait
so long for a chimera?
A chaste excuse for
seven seas. They wanted a close
encounter with aliens.
This was spring of orange
and black monarchs
who have to distribute
the gifts for hunger earth.
I cannot understand myself.
Sometimes I am happy,
sometimes I start grieving.
Satish Verma, 9 listopada 2018
Homeward
Suddenly, the full moon
pops up soundlessly. I was stunned
by sheer nakedness.
*
Will you catch a
butterfly for my reluctant wine?
I had invited the black roses.
*
A city does not
sleep any more, after the call
of service, fumbling with the locks.
Satish Verma, 8 listopada 2018
A Wrong Turn
Standing on deathway,
choking back tears,
for a stance.
There were few minutes left,
when you took the cover
under pervasive falcon.
Was it not a
molestation of a baby moon,
when you wash your sin in dimlight.
Amazing was the
religion of short legs.
An ailing mother was waiting at door.
You strike a chord
(while I don't stir)
before anointing the dark.
The battle of penultimates,
after a hill down
shackled to river.
Satish Verma, 7 listopada 2018
A Bruised Memory
The basics to live
was with the peeling off,
the tangerines. The innovative flight
takes you to surrealism-
of a countdown, which begins
to send a subsonic device
to small jupiters.
You receive the call and
jump into black sea-
eliminating the foes, breaking the bridge.
This moment after sometime splits,
ejects the god particle.
You slip out of backyard
to embrace the apparition.
The ending was never a happy thing.
Satish Verma, 6 listopada 2018
No Vilification
Do you think milk?
The medicine,
had already become
a bromide.
One benign question,
opened the potential
of conflict. The fan-
tasy? Golden knife?
Devastating me. Car-
essing the dark, did
you stop by the moon
to say hello?
Unmasking the secret―
of immortality? Ephebic.
You were always lying
to yourself.
Satish Verma, 5 listopada 2018
Day Of Anxiety
Between the soft glow of
twilight and moon, it was
cold. For a faithful swan.
*
The black smoke billows
from the rooftops of mud houses.
Time to celebrate a dinner.
*
I will not give up,
though nothing was left to do.
Atleast I can write a poem.
Satish Verma, 4 listopada 2018
What A Scenario
Put me through the
french knots. I am
under the gaze of
a jilted lover.
A freeze melts in
the rainbow. The dew
sits on the eyebrows
of the grass.
The spark splits
between the shadows.
Someone has hanged
himself from the window.
There was no life left
in the stump. Now
bristles will not stand
at ancient sites.
Satish Verma, 3 listopada 2018
Foggy Night
A machine pain,
scripts the name secretly,
intones the verdict.
*
I don't need,
to prove it, like the man
who sells the dreams.
*
Privacy interrupted,
I have come out in open,
to commit the god.
Satish Verma, 1 listopada 2018
Armless Fight
Who was the dancer of death?
You went for the kill,
and not for the killer.
The frail armistice. You
launch a drive for the drill.
It was more than what-
meets the eye. Looks like an
Armageddon. You begin in earnest
to ward off the paranoia.
Nativity was at stake. A
captive psyche fights the fading
memory. Your face goes blank.
My things and your things.
It should not have happened this way.
It should not have happened that way.
Satish Verma, 31 października 2018
Braiding The Destiny
The time will not heal. The
aging looks. Erotica. Each
scream ends in a dry river.
Who had the right to deliver
the needle and a silk thread?
Sometimes I will read you for
the signs of remorse. There
was this rigid wrinkle which
will not move on the face.
It will not matter if the grief
overwhelms. The scare was
real. Regurgitation. The bell
will not ring today. The pod
splits to release the seeds.
Come my mentor. I have tested
the floor, smelled the rope. The
translation should end tonight.
Satish Verma, 30 października 2018
Hear My Voice
Needing a bit less,
I wanted to discover myself.
Raise the chimney.
The house in on fire.
The door sleeps in the room.
Sun will find no corner
to sit. Can you call a cloud
to make the floor wet?
The knuckles come alive, rap
the window to stay calm. Someone
had knocked out the space
and coming in to meet the hunger.
A shrine has asked the roads
to be washed with tears of pilgrims
who had come from the faraway
hymns of darkness to script the light.
I am carrying the seeds of my
native place to find the roots.
Satish Verma, 28 października 2018
A Long Night
Without words, I wanted
to write a poem. Would you
read it from the moist eyes?
*
It was a strange thing.
Finding the darkness of whitemoon
in blue air.
*
The wolf was there
in the house, to
molest the moonlight.
Satish Verma, 27 października 2018
Recalling
It was snowing, snowing
very hard. Hold me
tight, when the wolf comes.
*
The wolf comes in red
cloak. Why did you ask me
to pin a white rose on him?
*
There was no quiver,
no tremor. The murder was
clean, without blood. Desert ants.
Satish Verma, 26 października 2018
This Autumn
Like water hyacinth of lake
you cannot run away
from your psyche.
*
A separation from the
body was imminent.
Moon was calling.
*
The myth was there,
and summer, the night
opens like a medusa.
Satish Verma, 25 października 2018
Blessing
At dusk, when moon was coming up
fidelity was challenged.
No soul was searched.
It was the body scarred in bright sun.
One pink petal flew over the cloud
and landed on the lake.
Will you gather the name and
send it back home?
It was a sacred gem, in the
navel of organdie, you had
worn on the night of a slaughter.
Opalescence, scolds the light,
dark was beautiful?
Satish Verma, 24 października 2018
The Shriek
Arising before the dawn,
to meet the earth,
your honeymoon was over with innocent.
You start becoming extinct,
with stained excuses. Naked as a belief.
There was no contradiction.
An imitation will take over,
for the surreal tomb.
A gift of rain will fill the bowl
left for Buddha, who was still sleeping
with eyes half-open.
A sage grouse begins the mating dance.
Can you speak for the scars? They
promised to remain mute.
Satish Verma, 23 października 2018
Interaction
Holding the truth for the
sake of time and space.
I will not ask your name.
*
In fading moonlight
you had abducted my boat.
How will I cross the river?
*
A civil war erupts between
the flowers of morning glory.
It has changed the way you think.
Satish Verma, 22 października 2018
The Living Death
Tonight, come for moon watch.
I will show you the night birds.
There was an impasse to find
the missing link for peace. A story
will not end in the water. A long
border was interrupted by the
wriggling snakes.
Of flesh. I will talk about the panic now.
You were collecting the flowers
from the ashes of dehydrated body.
I am leaving the race now,
to pay the debt of death.
A pink sky starts the endless struggle
to retrieve the black sun.
Satish Verma, 21 października 2018
Breathing Again
You dig in your heels,
when blood spills
under the skin.
Refuses to go, the homeless moon,
I will call the snow to cover the sod.
Scavenging,
through the stray thoughts, you
pick up the threads, to knit―
a scarf for the poem.
Body born, a planet
breaks, in your epic. The ivory
shaving will make a white gold.
The birth pangs start in natal pain.
Satish Verma, 20 października 2018
No More, No Less
Noway, I will ask
the poem, to become stressed out,
like the street,
beaten and used again
and again.
Where do you want to go
for a rendezvous with―
unknown, in dark,
groping for the unsung,
unseen meaning?
Time is worn out. You live
on the fringes, unselling
your ancient home, submerged,
after the earthquake,
triggered by ghosts of comments.
Satish Verma, 16 października 2018
Time Crossing
When I hold the pen,
it trembles in my hand; the poem.
The catharsis.
Zero minus, to no to everything
against the main stream.
You start kinking.
Gawking?
Every night I carry my glitches
to bed, to fight my demons.
Falteringly, you speak:
it should not have happened.
The genetic aberration?
Nudges the crass exhibition
of alphabets of exorcism.
You invoke the dumb gods, who will
not vacate the accelerandos.
Satish Verma, 15 października 2018
Solemnity
Give me a lone word.
I will write a poem.
You enter the final hour
of diagnosis. The kill
was imminent.
Back to back two trysts collide
generating a fire.
Who was peeling the moon?
The stab sets in. In
abeyance of the gift. I
will give you a scar.
Daisies will remain awake
at night, for the vigil
of a slain pilgrim.
Satish Verma, 13 października 2018
A Scare Comes Back
I have never been the same,
after watching, the abandoned
moon, rising gracefully,
and becoming secular. There
were no words, no speech;
but a biological war had
started between the shadows,
like gondolas in the air.
You unexpectedly turn blue.
Somebody had left the bloody footprints.
Satish Verma, 12 października 2018
Fake Arrival
Gliding on the clover
you invoke the sky.
A tiger moth lands on the―
sweet viola to seek liberation.
You die to find a rival―
to cheat the moon.
Everynight a silver bleeds
to write your name on the stone.
What you dream, does not
become your neighbour.
You give a big hearty
laugh to frighten yourself.
Satish Verma, 11 października 2018
Fake Arrival
Gliding on the clover
you invoke the sky.
A tiger moth lands on the―
sweet viola to seek liberation.
You die to find a rival―
to cheat the moon.
Everynight a silver bleeds
to write your name on the stone.
What you dream, does not
become your neighbour.
You give a big hearty
laugh to frighten yourself.
Satish Verma, 10 października 2018
Thousand Moons
On the rim of a beer glass,
stand, white crystals of salt.
I was watching a pale moon.
*
The lone tree always
waits for the dipping moon,
to give a parting kiss.
*
I grieve for the viola.
Why does it extend one―
petal for a landing pad.
Satish Verma, 9 października 2018
Last Hope
When the dialogue stops
there will be a royal bleed.
I had not come to the
terms of slaughter.
Wanted now, to manage
the anguish incontinent.
Can you find some space in
waiting, for the hangman?
Footprints and invisible faces.
Somewhere a hope lives in amber.
Trapped light, in wintery dark,
will stop a seed to play the nocturne.
Satish Verma, 8 października 2018
Scrutinizing
This jungle of words.
Fear, like a badger
comes, and sits at my door.
*
The insects, I
am tired of them. All the
time I sit under a bo tree.
*
This city was
like an ocean, full
of predator sharks.
Satish Verma, 7 października 2018
The Futurist
Unpunctuating,
fear will slice the time,
and you will be a sitting duck
in the hands of brutal clock.
Drink, Apollo,
with round eyes and
limbless torso. He walks on
the curves, reciting mantras.
There was intrigue and blackmail
in return for not telling
the indiscretion of celibates.
A damp squib. There was lot
of hissing sound, but no
explosion. Procreatiom will
stop without fire.
Wants to return to pines.
The cones, the pricks and
swaying hips of splendid suggestion.
Satish Verma, 6 października 2018
Marigolds
Wanting to know about
the violence in cuckoo's nest?
Heard the first call to court a mate.
*
You are not lonely
today. Moonlight will be
there at night.
*
The dark melts to
spring a surprise.
Suddenly there are colors around.
Satish Verma, 5 października 2018
Conceiving
The knife peels off
the silence.
Colours were very shrewd.
*
Tonight I want to sleep
open-eyed, to keep a
vigil on shooting stars.
*
The wood god
had no limbs. Only jewels
were used as prostheses.
Satish Verma, 4 października 2018
Few Points
Write me a poem,
under the flickering candle.
Moon will not come tonight.
*
I was very sad today.
Could not find the vault
where I had kept your prints.
*
Not far from the lake
where we used to walk,
a blue bird has arrived.
Satish Verma, 3 października 2018
Benevolence
Need mercy for a
Freudian slip.
I was sitting on a window.
The light went out
from the eyes of the masterpiece.
Only stones were left.
Give me the figurine.
I wanted to cut open the navel
and find out the blue god.
Will you pull the chariot
of moon? The black horses
will not send the blessings.
The dawn was still hiding
in a bunker. First you feed
a child and then kill the rising sun.
Satish Verma, 2 października 2018
The Assaulter
You were aging by nights.
Days will not seek
to defend you.
Drawing the landscape
of a snowfall,
you will die in a portrait.
The world meets
you again like a jawless
lamprey with sucker mouth.
Beyond the blues
lies a tower, where
you will not find the stairs.
In battlefield, stands
the army of red ants, ready
to pound upon the moonlight.
Satish Verma, 30 września 2018
The Drowning
The ancient war is on.
You kill,
or get killed.
Do not jostle.
You were sinking in quicksand
taking on the depth.
In exile, you
wanted the remains of
a brilliant moon, after it was possessed.
The poet will find
the jungle, standing quietly
after the execution, was stayed.
Between the witness
and accused, the judge will not
reverse, the slant of the truth.
Satish Verma, 29 września 2018
Seminal
An early bloomer:
you jumped on the otherside,
of Milky Way, at night.
Hearing the voices,
from inside,
becoming a Buddha.
The semen, without light-
sprouts, into a mad tree.
Not normal.
Starts walking at acute
angle, randomly,
for a cosmic, rare encounter.
A severed hand
writes the destiny of man
who went wild.
Satish Verma, 28 września 2018
Myth Of Suicide
Be laid:
with your private wounds
beside me.
For otherness.
Can you come out from―
your flesh, and watch
the ribs, becoming
infrasonic?
The desiccated dreams,
inhaling the fire,
drinking pain. You have
come full circle.
Can you describe the
journey of dead souls?
Without tears? Are you
going to reject the end?
The ruins are always a beauty.
Satish Verma, 27 września 2018
Walking In The Woods
Like war of words.
A fierce battle of winds
erupted between
mountain and woods.
There was no
rain, after the clouds
gathered. It was time
to say goodbye―
to moon. The sky
was playing host
to fireballs and coming
meteorites like man's fall.
Satish Verma, 26 września 2018
Cutting Edge
The rocks in water
like words, between
the tears.
Quasi-pain, reverberating
like a river.
It flows―
intermittently. The lava
of an active volcano.
You want to cover
the smashed skull.
The mirror
breaks, under the shock.
It had never happened before.
A nude streaking
on the screen.
The moon had nothing
to offer. Over and spent.
It moves on its axis
ungoverning―
the stars.
Satish Verma, 22 września 2018
The Clan
As I come, for molarity
without molars.
No grinding was left
in the millstones.
The family
accumulates. My distorted shape
will not accept
the broken ankle.
Paraplegic, you run
faster than meteriorite.
The boom was heard
beyond cacophony.
It had come from
the blue. The burning anchor
of desire, without
the damp eyes.
Satish Verma, 21 września 2018
Obstinacy
Be tender, with me―
in midstream.
I will not arrive.
Perversity was not
my virtue. I am still
burning on coals.
It was a disappearing act.
I become a brown rose
in your eyes.
The impacted glitch.
I was not deft
at the art of weaving a ritual.
I carry the dried skull,
of my unknown ancestor,
who would not come back to home.
Satish Verma, 20 września 2018
Like An Asteroid
Burning rocks had
a near miss. The
questions splatter
the blood-
to inspire and break
you inside and out.
Unbecoming, to end the
relationship. The story―
begins of an introvert.
The ungreen grass waits
for your wet toes,
to breathe again.
The blood-money was
very high, after the―
violent end of a
blade run.
My pillow is soaked of
a moonfall. The anguish
of a bodyless grave
was haunting.
Satish Verma, 19 września 2018
Sent Anonymously
It returns to haunt,
the dilemma, of disowning
the old version of truth;
when I was searching the parallelism
for the sake of otherness.
The unreturning melancholia,
brings the surreal intruder,
I did not want to entertain.
The insane activity of heart
wants a sin uncommitted.
The flirt eyes like a tulip
between your fingers,
unrolling the tender petals.
Night throws the salt on the moon.
There were no tears.
Satish Verma, 18 września 2018
Unexisting
A fugitive moon
appeared, after the blaze of the sun,
in a frozen standoff,
died.
My room was dappled
with pale moonbeams shadows,
nestled on the―
blue walls.
There was a constant drumbeat
coming nearer. He wanted
to quit. You cannot change
the legacy of dark rooms.
A manhunt must start
for the thief who stole away
all the voices of
a departed soul.
Satish Verma, 17 września 2018
Secret Deals
It insults the─
primitivism. Hypothermia, you
become cold-blooded.
*
Fractured limbs.
How will you climb the
mound of questions?
*
Gray night.
Between black and white
the ashen moon.
Satish Verma, 16 września 2018
Implacable
The moon titled her head
and went inarticulate
in black and white.
Seeding the earth with
stupor, undoing my-
poem in water.
An asteroid crashed in
my blue lake. Sit beside me,
I would say to a songbird.
The cardinal sin was
to abandon the throne
and climb down at night.
What was the designer's
love, I will ask, when I
was preparing myself for a self-denial.
Satish Verma, 15 września 2018
Taboos
This was a shock treatment.
Becoming friends
with aperitifs.
We drink the eyes
in remorse.
Unabridged. I clean the words
on the whiteboard. The
tongues were black.
Dilemma of stings.
No flesh was left
on the bones.
The body,
becomes a river.
You are drowned
in pink folds.
Satish Verma, 14 września 2018
Dying Art
The wind was in your hair,
I will bring the
valley, for you.
A major shake up. People
bend the moon
on the lake, against hanging.
The snow-capped peaks
would collect all the green fires
for the running tribe.
The centuries weep
for the unknown warriors;
who were born to look like chaff―
becoming fodder. I will
ask the god to write a requiem
for a person, who dies
thinking too much.
Satish Verma, 13 września 2018
Unsucceeding
After the
elective execution,
you reach at the
end of nowhere.
A wayward
cloud stands alone
under the plump moon.
It is absolutely―
white, like the
wings of a swan.
Beneath the earth
you want to dig out
the remains of dark hoods.
Gale-force winds
promise to make you
snow-blind.
Satish Verma, 12 września 2018
Disoriented
I was worried.
A deviant had lost the shape,
and had thrown a word at your face.
The black name was crawling
on the white paper. It was not
a rape, but the abduction―
of a mystic.
The snake time. Politics.
The crowd was celebrating the death.
What would you say, death
had many names?
I want to sleep with you tonight,
O moon. The slave
had become the master.
Satish Verma, 11 września 2018
The Secret Path
Often,
I will return to myself,
to meet a lost ancestor;
exploring the statics―
of the room, from where the journey
had started.
I will read your face in dark. The
wrinkles, the broken teeth,
and the foggy vision.
The fire escape now lies bereft
of trappings. There is a blank space
there, sucking the sky.
The pragmatism had taken over
and I was left over with
the figures in stones.
I am trying to walk again
deep into the woods. The time stands
still. I am ready for an
uncounter with unknown.
Satish Verma, 10 września 2018
The Nectarine Bliss
The nectar,
coming from nowhere,
settles on your lips.
*
A peacock
will show all the eyes,
wide open.
*
What will it mean
if a nuke is fired,
noiselessly, as a depth charge?
Satish Verma, 9 września 2018
A Labyrinthine Passage
It was oneness,
which brought my poetry
in the folds of autumn.
From words apart
you want to talk in space
for transparent signs.
The city sleeps
in morning mist, without
opening the windows-
of consciousness.
I come out in open
to watch the lone ficus tree
waiting to become a deity
of the walking shadows.
Satish Verma, 8 września 2018
Incinerated
I don't find words.
Words will find me crying,
when a drone hits the coral reef.
Between guilty and
innocent, the sleep will
level the night and
let go the dreams in sea.
The school of fish dies
in my story. The ship sails
for a new port. I cleave
a pattern of withdrawl.
Roses will come again, to
sign a pact with the unshaven
god, sitting on the pavement,
waiting to be beheaded.
Satish Verma, 7 września 2018
Underbelly
Unlocking,
the silver knife.
The poetry matters,
when it is dark.
*
Night,
has its own secrets, when,
dew spreads out
the beadings on grass.
*
Blackbuck was ready
to shed the antlers.
Moon was hornless.
Satish Verma, 6 września 2018
A Lone Journey
Invasion was thin
like a feather's fall
on the mirror.
Only bride will know,
the rose petals were
meant for unthinking.
Scattering rice
to dig out the tools
of prehistonic man.
The previous night
I taught myself
how not to peel the oranges―
with bare hands,
in terror, when there was
endless path to unknown.
Satish Verma, 4 września 2018
Gods Were Changing
After carbon dating
you will find-
that pain does not shimmer.
The terror of words
and words of terror, testify
against the predator
for twisting a confession.
The world will never be the same!
The savage cool
of the landscape, turns me on.
I decide to burn the
god books.
A charcoal portrait on the wall
tells the truth. The blackbird
will come stealthily. Radar
was aimed at the temple of love.
The world will never be the same!
Satish Verma, 3 września 2018
Paralysed
When,
the scream ends, you start
digging the shadows of
red berries.
The sky,
scoops the children of rape,
waiting for
the rains.
The tiger beetle,
will run after the winged prey
of first love.
Would you like to taste
the moon in the dark bowl
of malicious night?
Reading about the spell
of the roses, I went to a
Sufi, for an epitaph.
Satish Verma, 1 września 2018
Words Play
Blending with the light,
as ancients did-
on the leafy path.
You turn your gun-
on an old skull,
with broken teeth,
to rewrite the murder,
without qualms. A sniper
would take an aim.
Untouchable, the years
roll by, sending echos
in the valley of tears.
A final stroke.
The blood stops in the veins
while the angel sleeps.
Satish Verma, 31 sierpnia 2018
Absurd Myths
Crossing the divine,
I ask the marigolds
to return to the dust.
The gods were angry,
and dead would not speak
and the living were dead.
I am now heading towards-
the mute bells, disbelieving-
the great enlightment.
Rebuilding what was not true.
A dream will start telling
the price of the inflicted wounds.
I am not sure:
who were at fault.
The letters?
or the words?
Satish Verma, 30 sierpnia 2018
The Sterility
Becoming scattered,
the winged visitors
in my chest.
Is there a home-
for sane thoughts in the jungle-
of unthruths?
How long I will
continue my journey
in search of grass?
Satish Verma, 29 sierpnia 2018
No Coming And Going
Defrosting,
the mutability of homicide.
You were lost in dreams
stoking the protests of eyes.
What were the explicit
suggestive remarks?
A personality disorder for going back
to pyramids and searching the priest?
Embrace the death, who
says. The pavallion was empty.
Game was over and boys had
gone to dethrone the kissed thief.
The questions run, trailing
the path. What was the nature
of this thought, I say when
sky was infinite?
Satish Verma, 28 sierpnia 2018
Walking Shadows
A cherry legacy
and the orange pick.
Let me go wild.
*
Embellishing
the rock, with flowers,
for a golden fruit.
*
A journey, for
the comfort of slopes,
on the clear lake.
Satish Verma, 27 sierpnia 2018
Intriguing
The wind was black
and I wanted to make an eye contact
with the unknown.
Following the stars
in midnight-
there was something called
desire, in clean moon,
untying the knots-
in breast. The truth
was not in kernel,
it was in the flowing veins
of the leaves; sun, trapped
in green carbon. The-
wordless poem dousing
the fire between the cinders.
The cosmic door opens, shuts.
The bird song covers your tracks.
Satish Verma, 26 sierpnia 2018
Writing Furtively
Becoming musical
at the end time,
like a whooper's swan.
*
The poet sings
for carnations, when
the snow melts.
*
The secret,
you do not want to share
with death.
Satish Verma, 25 sierpnia 2018
The Gift Of Abandonment
The fantasy:
of moving in a circle,
taking a flower bath. A metaphysical
misquote. You were losing
your identity.
There was no abstract folly.
I will protect all the concrete truths.
To find a lover in the woods.
Fighting my demons
I start a circuitry of unborn vows.
The onslaughts continue.
Night comes with all its glory
to torment me, in absence of moon.
Satish Verma, 24 sierpnia 2018
Imploring
The ledge, jutting out
in quivering water.
Moon was sitting underneath, on floor.
*
I will look out-
for a songbird.
Something secret, I wanted to share.
*
I do not abuse anybody,
like a mockingbird-
I make a fool of myself.
Satish Verma, 23 sierpnia 2018
Parentheses
It was not easy,
to rewrite a dream poem
when you are bound and hurt.
*
A twiner
looms out, at my window.
Like a face, peeps in.
*
Do not want to tell,
about my sorrow,
before the dried up river.
Satish Verma, 22 sierpnia 2018
Renouncing
Move the steps,
to accept the dark.
Moon has abdicated the throne.
I am still trying to become.
Not becoming something.
A lot has remained―
unsaid in my small poems.
I am still trying, still trying
to decipher the life, to decipher.
The roots will know my pain.
My pain, why did I remained
mute amidst the clamouring words?
Tell me, why should it happen?
Why should? That someone jumps
in the boiling cauldron to find the truth.
Satish Verma, 20 sierpnia 2018
Renouncing
Move the steps,
to accept the dark.
Moon has abdicated the throne.
I am still trying to become.
Not becoming something.
A lot has remained-
unsaid in my small poems.
I am still trying, still trying
to decipher the life, to decipher.
The roots will know my pain.
My pain, why did I remained
mute amidst the clamouring words?
Tell me, why should it happen?
Why should? That someone jumps
in the boiling cauldron to find the truth.
Ostatnie komentarze:
15 lipca 2025
sam53
dwa lata czekam na skierowanie... czy brakuje
15 lipca 2025
z podziękowaniem za miłą lekturę :)))
14 lipca 2025
jeśli tylko
włoski pod słońce :))
14 lipca 2025
Weronika
Chociaż drży dłoń.
14 lipca 2025
wiesiek
super
13 lipca 2025
zimują w domu, a latem "ogródkują :)
12 lipca 2025
AS
genialny wiersz; ukłony i serdeczne pozdrowienia
9 lipca 2025
violetta
Tak, tylko winko bezalkoholowe:)
9 lipca 2025
Belamonte/Senograsta
wisi, to był ten sam gagatek, chyba się opamiętał,
8 lipca 2025
jak ma na imie?
8 lipca 2025
jeden z nas
8 lipca 2025
nie da się
15 lipca 2025
wiesiek
15 lipca 2025
sam53
14 lipca 2025
jeśli tylko
14 lipca 2025
Bernadetta
14 lipca 2025
wiesiek
14 lipca 2025
Jaga
13 lipca 2025
Belamonte/Senograsta
12 lipca 2025
wiesiek
12 lipca 2025
violetta
12 lipca 2025
dobrosław77