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	Satish Verma
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Satish Verma, 29 listopada 2015

Claustrophobia

For a patch of happiness
you rushed into the arms
of clouds. Only to fall back with tears.
The glazing authority of moon
hangs on the poverty of spiked wisdom.
Betrayal is the norm of celestial thinking;
how can you accept a dropp of death?

What is your motive
in watching the pain?
A path, a tunnel,
a precipice. The collage of purity
has the innocence of sorrow.
And truth, sails like a phoenix.
There is complete silence.
The flameless fire collapses
lapping up the anger.

Pouring out all the heart beats,
emptying the mind
darkness lowers the wheels
between muscles and bones.
Your body is eaten half by dusty thoughts.
Claustrophobia chokes the little stanzas
you are afraid, some one cares for you.

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Satish Verma, 28 listopada 2015

Innocent Was The Betrayal

The rose month is coming
I am not ready to receive the guest.
Mistletoe will takeover
With folded hands wind was blowing
No star accepted the gift
of burning earth.

He walked alone in the ruins
to search the time of rich.
His hunger did not find the bread.

He thought he was good as a bone
in the diet of sunset
on the snurfs of dew.

Innocent was the betrayal
under the sheets.
Pert was the sting.

Myth stumbles out from dead souls
I am walking behind the moon
your hand was on my shoulder.

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Satish Verma, 27 listopada 2015

House Of Rains

Hold the innocence,
at brink of sliding death.
Formless learning never answers
the questions of life
and truth. A single meaning
connects to unnumbered voices.
Anarchy of rimless vision
flourishes. I trace out
the pink stain of a murder on the sand.

Going beyond the fear
was a sane thought
I was the pain
and I was the truth.
Life presided over
the hyphenated relationship.
What do I do with the broken mirror?
The severed head of sun
trembles in the mid - afternoon.
Light of the east fading?

Cogitating on fear of dying,
In contrast to benevolence
I flung out the pleasure, from window
to find the brokenness of time.
The depression swelters under the doubts.
I want to see the house of rains,
of wounds and your pride.

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Satish Verma, 26 listopada 2015

Gather The Sun

In the untouchable dream,
night floats tugging at my sleeve
pain moves like a cloud.
My silence swells. A terrified impulse
breaks the window
and lets in the black shadows.
Pulsating noise explains
the human equation. Restless,
all night I give up my body.

The austere immortality
embraces the passion like a blast
I adore the drama,
but agony stops the words.
The earthly pettiness bothers
me. Somewhere the life ends
in nothingness. And sorrow
dictates the heart.
We abandon the paths taken,
walk back to the curtains.

Dying in pieces,
we disintegrate in semi-colons
and when the innocent eyes
seek the beauty of truth,
the life moves on to find
the meaning of bitter triumph.
The green fabric of emotions gets criss-crossed.
I gather the sun in my poems.

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Satish Verma, 25 listopada 2015

Ending Of Time?

The identity moves ahead
of the shadow of truth
I search for the absolute
in vain. Can I remove the emptiness
and talk to myself?
The core feeling is same.
We flow in our own separateness.
I want to outlive my brethren
and eat my death alone.

Mindful I watch the kernel,
swaying tree is silent
I am here due to a fault in the genes.
Grief is not my skull house.
Each night I sleep with dry lips
dreaming a lake.
My pillow floats like a chopped moon.

Silence of anonymity
in the heart of a storm.
It is a curious apparition.
The vibrations of distant whispers
fill up the lungs,
ripping apart the veins.
My inside blood utters
a shrill sob.Where to go?
We cannot return back. Ending of time?

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Satish Verma, 24 listopada 2015

Passion Is A Hurricane

Ending of the thought
does not bring a lull.
It is a sequel beyond
my reach. An old extrication,
I dig for my roots.
The forgotten names,
the unhealing wounds of a doctrine,
a tiny memory of pulsating embryo,
not yet born!

Fear generates a kill. Ferocious movement
inside the cells slowly,
you become zero without a center.
The tangent skips
on your surface. Claustrophobia.
You start breaking the walls.
Fighting anxiety & shame
a timeless timber without a foliage.

My ignition point is hurt in
the new culture of game.
How we approach the road,
which smells the death,
blood or smoke?
The passion is a hurricane.
Uproots all the bones,
shatters all the roots.
A glory reckons after a while,
for the election of sorrow.

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Satish Verma, 23 listopada 2015

Singing Dust

Bring out your integrity
genesis is imploding
in the murderous womb.

Multilinear mutinies have started
in red blooms
igniting the sky.

An old woman walks on the street
eating the shadows of sun.
The king will give her a gift of moon.

How the earth has been flattened
by the pawns of Resurrection?
Life has never been the same.

Purely undone for the death
milk of silence in dark.
The cow is sitting on the singing dust.

Fear was not me I was listening
the wheezing sound of changing winds.
The snakes are coming out of the trenches.

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Satish Verma, 22 listopada 2015

Alone In The Heat

The insult to sober conviction
unsettles the saints.
Give me your hand,
to solve this problem.
An abstract idea joins
the postures of different conflicts,
the worship of crumpled illusions.
After great sufferings
only proverbs give a soothing effect.

Images blur, misspent energy
distorts the palisade of love.
Perhaps history repeats itself.
Moon cries at midnight
looking beneath the soft clouds,
to follow eternity.
Past & present are losers.
The trustworthy future
does not hold any promise.

Again questioning brings
the numbness on surface.
The agony of realization,
moves away from just mistakes.
It is hard to smash
the strong beliefs.
A self-denial brings
the death of truth.
I am alone in the heat
of an argument, pathless, rising, sinking.

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Satish Verma, 21 listopada 2015

Dares The Storm

The pain out-thinks every moment,
all over the body
I wander in a solitary walkway.
There is nothing between mind
and brain. Whole prosperity of thoughts
curves easily. The body
spends all the internal wealth
to gain a humble peace.
The rambling melancholia
pales into white lava.

The fatal fear follows you
like a hot light. The pursuit
of incense, the chase of
beautiful icon’s cleavage brings
the charm. Speaking about the ecstasy,
about the shapeless pleasure,
the ultimate opposite of
sacredness becomes instant
liberation, from any symbol.

The contents of the dumb
days are burning. Peace
never returns. Prayer
and worship wakes the child
inside you. Flesh denies
the natural desire. You
cannot accept the corrupt barometer
of obedience. It dares the storm,
gathers the momentum
and kisses the slayer.

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Satish Verma, 20 listopada 2015

Lips Will Measure

A perfect solution
was never found. The question
remained unanswered beyond
the skin. Stripped to the bone.
afraid of future,
you cannot invite the ending
and present will not continue
indefinetly. Unabated,
over and over again,
you hit the trail to drink the sun.

Pain and sorrow, hurts and grief,
is prescribed fear of unknown.
In the dark tunnel,
your numb limbs
search for an explanation.
The dialogues with stones
do not bring comparison.
You should remember your name.
The lips will measure the time.

Movement of fear begging
for unbuckling the dark
was like a calculated risk to alalyze
the wolf’s intentions.
They are hovering like inhuman
crimes. A potent hunger
walks out of the kitchen,
gouges out the peacock’s eyes.
Now rains will not come.