Satish Verma, 12 kwietnia 2013
After a peek into the world news,
I will start asking many questions to myself
in the dialect of hurling petrol bombs that,
how many names of a god are valid
in my poor dictionary of past truths?
I start eating away myself bit by bit
and save few grains for my children,
for clenching hurts and start a journey of unknown.
The debate will never end for the sake of
poetics in many me, of many avatars.
Un-self I start searching the stairs
of the tower in dark conspiracy of silence.
The night has forgotten a Mozart.The
magic flute will not play again.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 11 kwietnia 2013
Chasing the embedded sex of the moon
you torched the sun
by the stares of dead
and turned yourself into a stone
of steps. For survival?
I knew the gravel, the water
therefore cried inside.
Navigating in swathes of tristesse
makes you insane. Let us split the god
open, and find out the meaning of life.
The missed beats demand more blood, more
slavery. Bivalent limbs become untrue
to heart. I was late in coming.
You too!
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 10 kwietnia 2013
It was night’s fury
whipping up hysteria
on specks of flames, dancing in pain.
On a heap of ashes
and bones where a child of death
will be born.
Before fading,
moon will kiss the golden thighs
of sun and think aloud
dying shirtless in intimate
ambit of sky.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 9 kwietnia 2013
In the tiny truths behind the hidden
words and blood streaked cheeks, you
drink ozone in deep layers. I will count
all my sins and light the candles in a row.
On the pillow of moon, night slept in half-slumber.
I tendered an apology
and wrote a new poem. It was not a rebuke
of stars.
This was my ad lib before the sun rise
and roses opening the blood conversations
with the grand stings. The wrapped hunger
starts wailing.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 8 kwietnia 2013
Exacerbating,
falling in dust,
searching the dead truths
on pills of abandoned bodies of lies.
The dawn brings out
the trapped victims of transmigration
from capricum to capricon.
Then they commit a mass suicide
around hymns to seduce the
god with thousand smiles.
A flock of memories lands on the grey
body of moon for the last rites.
One by one they walk away,
the ironic actors of secular wake,
asking for forgiveness from abyss,
gazing at the eclipsed sun for the last time.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 7 kwietnia 2013
Do not stare at full moon.
The distance between love and hate
has narrowed.
Not for the shrunk radiation,
sun wants to hide behind the gift
of sunflowers.
The golden ring on the black finger,
I love the death’s cry,
fire will wear the jewel.
Collapsed roofs of the palace,
it is the cushioned agony
of the emptied king.
Everything was melting,
the child, the mother and the grain.
From where the water will come?
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 6 kwietnia 2013
The dome has collapsed.
You walk in fire on the eve of
exhuming yourself, picking up
the pieces of humming life.
Eye to eye, the patience was wearing
thin, fears had positioned themselves,
at the doors, snarling.
A mass grave was being dug in the distant woods.
On cloudless hills, a raging sun
climbs up to send the dust of miracles,
which never nodded. The faith healers had
failed on ivory stages.
The god is ailing with multiple failures.
Man, are you responsible for this bloodbath
in coldest weather of earth when grievers
were frozen in their tracks?
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 5 kwietnia 2013
Casuarina! I miss you a lot.
Why don’t you reclaim this drab century
by your drooping branches,
off from the poetry of water?
The words are dried up.
No rustling sounds, the winged
creatures broke the mirrors,
a black moon.
I am walking without legs
in the sea of encounters.
The headless groom was searching his bride
amidst fallen greens.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 4 kwietnia 2013
At that time
I was thinking something else
when you gave me a half-kiss,
my winter naked moon.
A souvenir left by sun
for the sake of night. I remembered
pink roses
unpetaling green thighs-
for quest of shelter in civil war
of reminiscences.Merciful was the landslide
which buried the whispers of
dead dreams.
Unpretending, unleaping, the ocean
sucks the grief of clouds. The
rains have started a dance
for the suicidal gods.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 3 kwietnia 2013
Disaffection
brings out, the black fever.
Stars will chart the inky path.
It was too close
the brazen attack
on sacred rites.
Prejudice
of contents was besides, heavy.
I am going to flee from spaces.
You become a fodder
of white ghost.
Your shadow cleaves in water.
Below the bridge
hangs a tale.
The river had received phosphorescent bodies.
Satish Verma
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