Satish Verma, 14 kwietnia 2016
It was not like life.
I am worried,
they were hitting the womb.
Social support for surgery.
The hills were crying.
A ring of fog was disturbing.
The elements and spasticity.
Brain leaves a trail of acid.
They were killing the genes.
For the proud generator
over the deaf and dumb
lies the chanting crown.
Terror and the battle of garden,
edge of revenge
annihilates the light!
Satish Verma, 13 kwietnia 2016
He turns, forgets the hollyhocks
tries to become human
accepts the stupidity.
When he could not help the hops
closed the door
and gave sermons.
A horny hooch
or judgement on honeydew
was tossed in dust-bin for integrity.
And deep in river
a crocodile dies
for underwater truth.
Chastity was in peril
tormented by creativity
of the underground.
Satish Verma, 12 kwietnia 2016
Do you need a sanitizer for contaminated hands?
They were busy in illustrating the ugly contours
of life.
Up and down you were out of joint,
and your feet were not fastened to the ground.
Untainted a shrill voice prepares to rise
from the sullen men
huddled on the floor,
for the sad demise of a grand master.
The green truth was nowhere to be seen.
People are getting down for a feast
to invoke peace for the departed soul.
I am miserable,
cannot blast the fake ceremony.
Year after year the doomed city performs a ritual
for the coronation of a new king.
The sky is divided by domes, towers, minarets
and tall turrets.
cannot see the moon clearly at night
I reject the old abstractions
draw the ink from the blood
and paint a tarantula.
Satish Verma, 11 kwietnia 2016
The way back it worked
the pretention,
the parthenogenesis.
Now we are lying
without any affair, in self-deception.
The belief has no walls.
The truth inside and the truth outside –
there is no placenta in between,
foetus dies in the womb.
Unpleading, immaculate, zen
bleeds in chips.
My god is lying dead.
My butterflies have gone,
perched on moon
I am looking for stars.
Satish Verma, 10 kwietnia 2016
Looked naïve, but he was
elevating himself on the heap of lights
unlearning the human commitment.
Hunger was his weapon
to level the uprising of underprivileged.
This monarch of darkness
picks up the best,
insists on low profiles.
We were searching fossils
under the rocks
to decipher the shadows of history.
Between the glory of hardened footprints,
we found the labels.
Contents unknown but enough to browse.
They were weightless
and soaring high.
But I was not able to survive
in jungle of praises.
You know, the world
has short memory.
Satish Verma, 9 kwietnia 2016
Perhaps you know,
that you do not know,
the moment of truth is here,
and we are at the cross roads.
Night is without a cloud
and crescent moon is questioning a star.
Ghost of strayed peace
has slided back in dark.
Pure chemistry of love is boiling.
Planting the tender flowers on lips
I find nothing. I think I will go
for a new lover.
Strawberry was your choice,
but I always craved blue berries.
Pulpy red and blue black were teeth apart.
Your eyes are unreadable,
a watery grave of pain.
Something impossible should happen
Poetry is waiting for symbiosis.
Satish Verma, 8 kwietnia 2016
After drawing a self-portrait,
I want you to believe
that I am not in it.
The style of rebellion cannot be judged by
blurbs only.
A chunk of refusal,
a narrow escape,
and thin veiled hysteria,
all go for a parody of exactness,
which had been really absent from our lives.
Can you find out
who is betraying whom?
where the tears are migrating?
And where the smiles have gone?
Instead of brutalizing,
I care for the tender torches
moving in the dark bush.
A precise definition is needed
for self-denial of molten lava
which moves like a river
but does not grab the heights.
Satish Verma, 6 kwietnia 2016
Experimenting with thoughts and nostalgia,
trying to extinguish the guilty fire,
hiding the ruins of a home,
were not simple jobs.
I was building an ivory tower at the dead end of a road.
Give me some hope, nothing else,
A marvel, which gives some sight to a blind beggar.
The clowns had already plundered the shelter
and habitat of coarse logs.
It was a cold night and I was shivering
in worst of time and hour.
How could you do it,
prompting him to leap from the dizzying heights?
After all, suicide was not the solution.
If only life had appreciated his courage
and gave him a ladder.
I am following the trail of blood.
Satish Verma, 4 kwietnia 2016
On the road
negotiating a midnight blue
into the myth of rebirth,
putting death in dock.
to go or not go to beyond liberation.
Home, left far behind!
Leaving the house of desire and fame
I was ready to go for my chosen abandonment.
Life had become useless.
Debating had begun.
Ambulance was sitting idle on the keys.
Observer was being watched.
Septicemia. Venom has reached every
microcosm and physician was dead.
God was not mincing any words for dummies.
A lightening stroke was travelling
from head to toes.
Open you bowels.
Earth is crying.
Satish Verma, 3 kwietnia 2016
The hawk was always hatching
a pacer,
to spin the surveillance,
tampering the tracks of violence.
The haul was heavy. Moon and fishes
went on to spread the dragnet
striking gold from the liquid
denials. The sovereignity was
violated of a virgin god.
The rule of drinking was sidelined.
Kiss will survive after the death opens
the back door of a globe.
Dreams are exhausted. There will
be no comeback of a star player
in the game of bloody manipulations.
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