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	Satish Verma
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Satish Verma, 5 sierpnia 2014

COUNTING

When you were rolling in dust,
a puritan said, truth was me.
It was getting dark in Himalayas.

Black words, black themes.
You have started a journey in daylight
in a hot desert of fear.

Tormented, because of the heat
of arguments. Mimicry makes you sick.
Mocking birds fly straight for lofty peaks.

Self-denial was hurting sometimes
against copious rewards and generous handouts,
like pinned on a totem.

The happening must start
with hidden promises of price.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 4 sierpnia 2014

WAVERING

I have peeled off my eyes.
Fear of unbeing creeps in,
genes were escaping.

The thin affair bends
under the burden of vague uncertainty.
A smoke rolls out from choking throat.

A word leaps high from wounded pride.
The author does not know the sting,
blames the ears.

Hails will strike when you open the door.
The past will question the future,
the anguish of infinity.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 3 sierpnia 2014

IT OPENS

An oriole gives
an edgy call
in the blaze of morning.

I am not fully awake,
sky is melting on window.
Death has company.

Zen, it did not connect me
with your god.
I am tired of pretentions.

Small was the wasp
in a cobweb of pain.
It floated a sign of conflict.

My thorn did not prick your petals
in vain. Dead leaves
started bleeding.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 2 sierpnia 2014

RAGS AND RICHES

Deep blue, almost black,
sadness.
Being,
my ache of existence.

Eyes, no body in focus.
A grey cloud
rowing the moon
amidst red stars.

Bronzed tongue
digs the spirit
out of flesh
behind the shadows.

Alone me
in unlived house of rags,
looking beyond the walls
other side of tomorrow.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 1 sierpnia 2014

HALLUCINATION

Watching the ascension
of half-moon from the brown hills
there was a blast in veins.

A raw hope strokes the clouds.
Starting a fire in stars,
making you blind.

Till the eyelids become heavy
with guilt, striving. Waking up
in middle of blue.

I was trying to reach you, when you
were not there,
wounding me in void.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 31 lipca 2014

BLAST

In a pool of blood
a face swims.
Under the boulders
there is a muffled scream.
Your private god was not there.

The space is littered with death-snacks.
Births a bloom of limbs,
stained shirts,
twisted wheels.
Dam of tears had a breach.

Stampede of legs –
abandoning the footwears.
Faces disappearing in smoke, confusion.
Road is deserted. A white pigeon lies dead
on his back, slicing the air.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 30 lipca 2014

DISASTER AND AFTER

What is the relevance now
to live for a cause?
Epicenter has changed.
They were altering the human gene.

Butterflies, the lips of squealing
babies. I was very fond of monarchs,
flying in huge clouds, settling like
a drizzle on pink rose bushes.

What do you want to achieve
by cold-blooded murder of the sleek geniuses?
Death was smiling. You deny the god’s script
in the temple of your faith?

Nascent crimes are still rising
in the face of human suffering.
After the earthquake, in the rubble
we let them come, the young shoots.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 29 lipca 2014

FACE TO FACE

In the valley of blasts
a row of jacarandas
tall, sweet smelling,

shed blue petals endlessly.
A colossus spread
on wounds of earth.

A small girl with pellets
in her belly
was searching her wounded mother.

Essense of sorrow
helps to find myself,
in defense of freedom.

In the city of death
an unbeliever like me
wants to find peace with God.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 28 lipca 2014

PINK CITY

Burnt-out myths in the old city
are stitching the lips of people.
Pink walls smell like blood.

Priest is dumb, hoisting the headless
deity on throne. Marigolds
are soaked in flowing tears.

Innocent wheels riding against blast,
stand still to measure
the half-life of seizures.

Cult was spreading in place,
fingers and cells Dynasties inheriting
the bleached fathers.

The ages rot under the sculptors.
We walk on water, wordless, sightless
for the thin hope.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 27 lipca 2014

SWEET REVENGE

It is,
what do you not say
I read the dusk
on your eyes.
Unspoken words
hammering!

A timer,
quartz clock,
ball bearings, pellets
croissant of terror.

Suspicious of the lady
riding on crest
responsible,
for the happenings.

Fear,
hair raising,
turns back the centuries.
We lose,
ourselves!

Satish Verma