Satish Verma, 5 czerwca 2017
Do not remember the names.
Somebody is waiting in the wings.
It is very dark here. The drums
will break the mother’s heart.
The death will not accept the
dew on the grass. She wants tears;
The Buddha is taking a turn
in his sleep. Why is he so restless?
O, my father, I am watching the
fields turning into piles of ash.
Cannot shut the eyes for a jiffy.
Will you write something for the god?
Satish Verma, 4 czerwca 2017
That fleeting incandescence
was branded witch
in grotto of a cloud.
For the first time I saw
your face in water.
You said this is manic
depression talking to flowers
and seeing a bizarre
apparition in dark blue sky.
What was the thing called
arrival? Every moment
a truth dies before
your eyes.
Between laughter and tears
I touch your eyes. Is that real?
And your brown ankles
walking on white snow.
I am soliciting a bloodstained
floor for a dance.
Satish Verma, 3 czerwca 2017
Why did your hand
become the fist?
You were thinking about the indignities
heaped upon the lake,
when you were retrieving a song
of freedom from the depth of questions.
There was no capitulation.
You went on opening the congealed-
blobs of blood to know
the keynote of violence.
The sectarian hate.
It outlives the love of brotherhood.
You want to go back to, from where
the jungle starts. It had swept
away the snow-white young
peaks.
Footprints of some movement.
Can you see that?
Satish Verma, 2 czerwca 2017
Walking with death
talking poetica.
Living without walls
and firing squad.
While new culture was
drowning on steps of
dots and bass voices.
The blood on hands.
Sometimes you are going
nowhere in a pathless
city. Back to back setting
ablaze bazaar of black gods.
Between the veils lies
the trauma of man. I
step out from the underside of
hymns. Cannot sleep in temple.
Satish Verma, 1 czerwca 2017
There was soft
purring. Inviting but malicious,
when you entered the cave.
A bittersweet encounter.
Quantified. A new dna print
after a cyber attack.
Another turn of the Venus.
The whole world
has never been the same.
Anatomy of violence
was shaping the
future bêtes noires.
Stupid thing, our roots
still commingled with dust
searching the stone-deaf god.
Satish Verma, 31 maja 2017
In the valley of death
one more guest arrives.
By my sleep, there is a soul search.
Take off the lid from silence.
Unlach the door.
The wounded sun was coming.
Be my grief to wash the eyes.
Unclench my fist.
I want to write the name of fallen god.
Inhale the sulphur and
draw the moon.
Night was coming to take revenge.
An obituary will glorify
the asylum.
An alien will enter the skin.
Satish Verma, 30 maja 2017
A cutaneous drip.
The young moon drinks the dew
unbuttoning a rose.
A fierce wind rubs
against the golden triangle
to invite a violet sting.
Eyes armed with green thumbs
go for a swim in rage.
The lake unloosens a blood moon.
No inscense will rise
from the tomb of a lover,
unless he dies with a style.
Crossing the gray lines,
I will not take your lips;
paralyzing the silver tongs.
Satish Verma, 29 maja 2017
He was no longer angry
writing his own epitaph.
Fighting a singular brute
without repeating himself.
Midnight. Untouchable moon
drops the ear-ring.
A mottled face worships
a ladder expressionlessly.
A monk walks past an
oversexed monkey.
A hidden agenda in end,
shows a dirty hand.
You know, I do not want
to tame an exploding -
navel. Transfixed I throw
the bottle in a sea.
One more parakeet dies
in my hands. How do I catch
a flying saucer in the
alien body.?
Satish Verma, 28 maja 2017
A leopardess dies on a tree.
No molestation was reported.
Exploring your breast
why were you throwing salt?
As if almost needing a space
you ran to top. A solid truth
looks like a quasicrystal
against the nature.
Unbosoming myself I am
traveling in vacuum. Empty
hands don't hold any ancestors.
I am carrying my unborn voice.
Now don't cry, don't. You are
reaching home at the end of a
tunnel. A featureless fog will let you in,
in a fatherless world.
Satish Verma, 27 maja 2017
The arch
in the targeted killing
was the bet when you
lost your virginity.
A slow dance
at the cold river of flesh,
with genitalia wiped off.
I was constructing-
your genome
from you saliva. Prayer
was a form of begging
before an unpardonable sin.
The gradient
parting the hills will
find another arena
to start the game.
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