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	Satish Verma
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Satish Verma, 5 kwietnia 2014

IDOLATORY

I say to myself, why did not you learn
the ways of life?
The chariot blew up in your face.

Blueberry, blueberry –
they bloom in dark.
How difficult it was to stay normal
human being and speak your lines
carefully.

I will pull my hearse one day
unspoken, unseen.

This mirror has no more trappings.
It is reverted into original glare.
Hang your boots, it says.

I say I am a lobster
in a water tank,
listening to waves;
ready to be boiled,
when idol wants to eat.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 4 kwietnia 2014

THE WHOLENESS

Days are crisp,
nights chilled.
A lake of fluid fire, under the clouds,
prepares for a virgin assault.
I do not thaw the frozen hurts,
respect the disguise of the old lover.

Hearing my own voice from a distance? I
stand by the shore,
discover my lost home,
become a valley of sphinxes.

And the wetland kicks the pain
of earth to break into insanity of scars.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 3 kwietnia 2014

THE CALLER

After breach in tolerance
one peeled truth becomes incendiary.
Afraid of the known:
pitched against
unknown.

Dying young with stiff upper lip,
the grief,
was not curtained enough.
The malignant spread,
refused to retract a name from the epitaph.

Greed overtook
by calculation,
powerful thrust to run the winds,

the virgin grass will not surrender.
Lethal on the move, a humble shout
was nearer to god.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 2 kwietnia 2014

WHAT CONCLUSION WAS LEFT?

The seizure,
volatile it was,
the way to tell, for the things
he did not want to say.

You suffer silently.
Coming to boiling point,
for the starkness of the torture.
The abridged wholeness was empty.
Only howling remained.

Can you measure the pain?
The depth of the wound?
Start the dialogue with the unseen?

The flame protected in the folds
of a primeval skill,
now singes the clarity.

Between you and I no space was left.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 1 kwietnia 2014

THE DEBRIS

Give me the whole
of a fragment,
I am standing on a frozen lake
of inadequate compassion.

The totality of implications frightens.
Look deep in my eyes
you may find the plumage
of the green peacocks. They are gone.

Walk on the burning coals
to perceive actuality. Life slaps the illusion.
Debris falls from a shooting star,
overwhelming the clouds.
Rains will not come now for a while.

History heaps few glares
on the spinning darkness.

The theater runs for an empty house.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 31 marca 2014

LISTENING TO FORGIVE

A distended deceipt takes over,
when you,
you become the fear-
under a distorted moon, tangled,
unscripted. The damp nails
scratching,
on the skin of light
after hurricane.
Ruins stand on broken skulls
praising the icy death
bringing the race on brink.

Killer smile shatters the wholeness
of imagination. Letters dropp from memory.
Words uneven, meanings disappear.
you search
the needle to stich the history.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 30 marca 2014

IT DOES NOT MATTER

After a face off
you toss the coin
resenting the liquid fame.

Frame extracts the price
of picture.
Compassion for the artist was missing.

I suffer in mid moon
between darkness and light
clarity of rags was improving.

Homage is now going to hurt
after the fall of ego, in
ending of alchemy.

In spite or sorrow
a face drills holes
in my wheels.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 29 marca 2014

MELTDOWN

Unveiled,
the moon will find you
after morose beginning
of becoming – me

Homophobia creeps in,
beyond the condemnation,
the incompleteness.

You walk straight in the arms
of contradiction, confusion
smearing the wall
with your crimson, nihilistic words.

Every other person
a demi – god
stands on your fears, sends whispers
down your ears.

To abdicate the colleagues
of dawn.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 28 marca 2014

BY THE WORDS

Always he was picking up and counting the pins
to distill the essence of rainbows
and find the symmetries of elementary
laws and eating leftover words from the table.

The terrorists had wired his house and he was
not aware of it. The wrinkles on the face
for the bridge destroyed, would not bring
peace within. Times were different, icy and slippery.
He hated only himself for the failure of ships
to sail through the scope of explosions
rage and tears. The madness of unchaste
happenings submerging the cognition.

His tongue was heavy, hands writing the epitaph
on air. The bald eagle scoops a bride,
slices the breasts for the green stigmata
of liberation. Ajmer, INDIA

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 27 marca 2014

WHAT HAS TO STAY

Like I want to erase the fear
before I light a remote fire
in the blue veins.

Actually this was the crisis of self pride
in manic depression
seeking the anonymity of toes
tracing the footpath.

Becoming a paper-boat
in the winds of flesh and fancies
on the choppy sea of death.

No spinal pain for candles
to burn in courtyard
of sunken faith.

Red grapes in a tiny bowl
leap to lips of sun
for sons and daughters. Ajmer, INDIA

Satish Verma