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	Satish Verma
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Satish Verma, 12 października 2015

Unworded

The search was absolute,
truth was not.
The shades of impermanence
and flowing emotions merged.
I stood between the reality
and tilting shadows of time zones.
The distance had created
metaphors and I was weary of pretentions.

The deep sorrow nurtured
a grain of truth
an essence of time.
Earth shuddered in the
process of integumentation.
I trampled on the grass
as if to find the ozone.
Impatience scattered the wings.
I smelled the stone.

Take me not to gloom of death,
the immeasurable pain
I will find the ultimate path.
It was not easy to uncondition the lips.
Mute genes had become my potency.
Unworded a voice rose in the east,
I squirmed.

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Satish Verma, 11 października 2015

Black And White

The nihil extract seeps into,
hungry roots of thoughts,
doubts the doubter.
I do not abandon the
flame of nil shadows.
Try to find the way back to home,
where I was born,
breaking my leash.

Equanimity suffered when
continuity bargained for
substance, while I opted for
emptiness where the space was enough
to turn the pages of life,
and I listened to the unhitched
voices of virgin lips.

Moon shadow in a self portrait
hangs on a tear
but I worshipped the sun;
Its heat melting my contexts,
entombed in scaffoldings of hope.
The crisp day witnessed
a miracle when no body
complained in black & white.

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Satish Verma, 10 października 2015

Dark Performance

An empty indulgence,
tortures the deep imagination
the immutable name of unuttered grief.
Gradually the fear of unknown,
takes hold of the lungs, spleen.
We don’t put the,
solitude for soul-search.
I am hearing myself now.

The fake overtakes the acuity.
Death looks the sacrilege from a distance.
The saffron clouds create
the opacity in transparent green.
Once we were all colorless,
full of dirt now; storing
our memories in empty hearts.

The vigil was over,
rains scattered the seeds.
The hours and days were littered
with bruised limbs of shaken faith.
No body held the banner.
The dark performance of believers
was sheared off by sharp lights.

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Satish Verma, 8 października 2015

Aparthied

Offspring were preoccupied in their spiral career,
you feel sorry. You don’t get the sleep,
core-feelings flee from
the windows of an ailing house.
A cloud softens again in the eyes.
Wronged truth has created
an aparthied in ranks of candles.

Inner pain gropes towards
the spot between eyes.
You survive by the
whispers of absolute bliss.
Looking becomes a sequential text.
The self divides the darkness into hot flames.
Outpouring the anguish, the frailities.

At dawn the blackness
of dripping night fades.
The earth wins the moral nothingness,
beyond the regrets of inspired sermons.
The psyche is rooted
deep in the mud, topless
dust spreading the
message of preferred truce.

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Satish Verma, 7 października 2015

D-Day

It was the centre of inferno,
where we met -
the chaste tree was burning.
Beyond the time,
we opened up our memories,
churning our minds.
That was without
space & measurements.
I am again turning deaf.

The stillness had a vocabulary,
and the words hummed a silence.
I emptied all my rooms,
came out to listen to otherness.
How thin was the happening,
the thoughts drifted out,
visibility became poor
and ending of pain came soon.

Pure tearless eyes,
became loyal to truth
which eluded the prayers.
I did’t want to hurt the lights
or myths would glorify the herd.
When the sun becomes cloudless,
I will come for D-day.

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Satish Verma, 6 października 2015

Fruits Fall Like Dreams

We were absent from ourselves,
the stillness roared
like a mad sea.
Keeping a night vigil didn’t help,
we felt protected in blazing sun,
quality of answers were deteriorating,
the truth existed,
beyond our beliefs.

In non-aligned manners
we disengaged from pain.
It had become a habit,
to walk in swamps
instead of asphalt road,
which was leading to peace.
We watched the rise,
and fall of attitudes together.
Language failed to find an asylum.

Ataxia of windows,
cannot barricade the light,
the fruits fall like dreams,
on hard ground, to crack open,
and disperse the seeds.
When you start the
voyage to distant realities,
your days are over.

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Satish Verma, 5 października 2015

Spring Was Mauled

The crisis,
a distinctive nothing,
swaps the dignity with blood.
The world hogs around
your palatial words.
The throb drips from your temples.
Hate or love it,
the barren prelude looms large.
I am going for a drift.

It comes back again
and again the debris of dream
of circling wolves.
The crisp moon outlines the contours of hills.
I fight with a stiff translation
of a truth. Deep rituals will always hound.
I escape from my body,
unfreeze my ego.

The stars did not help.
The space widened between doors.
Illusions outlined the
shadows of dead years.
Must we praise the seeping
poision in our bones?
No God had been spared,
the spring was mauled
by prowling summer.

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Satish Verma, 4 października 2015

Crossing The Sea

Till the end story
hope was not visible
to others.

Lie neutral truth
and road side innocence
died under the sun.

End in view was shifting
from error to error.
Statements squeezed between departures.

Steaming cup of patience
dazzled the penniless.
I was sick of hypocrisy.

At the end of my forest
dawn of my child
was peeling a rainbow.

Pedlars of worn out boats
were standing at the shores.
Two little feet were crossing the sea.

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Satish Verma, 3 października 2015

Left The Body To Watch

In the ending, there was beginning of fear
of unknown.
The pain of malignity,
evil punctuation of
a serene landscape.
Life moved from one landmark
to another in alien waste.
I shuddered in a patch of sun.

The impulse was very strong to find out the answer
I was violated by many questions.
Words could not tell,
migrated back to their scriptures.
Time altered the names
of fear & death.
Waiting grew into self-knowledge.

Like pleated oxygen mask
life gave me a bump.
Saddened, I played the mutation game.
Failed, tried again, left the body to watch
the death of the self.
Beyond the mind, away from sorrow
and grief of world.

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Satish Verma, 3 października 2015

The Hunt Had Failed

The symbols delivered the hunger
and desire cleaved the hearts.
Fragile peace for collective
anguish was not a substitute.
Moment to moment
truth revealed your hand.
In desperation I searched
for destiny, not path.

Inadequately I clothed my fate.
Did not believe in organised mirrors.
Less than a peak,
I climbed to happiness.
No idols, no idolatory
my passivity took applause,
hungry thoughts
indulged in deep search.

The imperishable freedom,
a road to absolute
oneness was so close,
you faltered.
The transcription of internal peace went crazy.
Poorly lit blood in veins circulated in circles.
The hunt had failed.