Satish Verma, 30 sierpnia 2018
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
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
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
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
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 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
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
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
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
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.
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