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	Satish Verma
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Satish Verma, 20 marca 2013

RELIGION

Asphyxiated by curled hands.
Punishment for tainted moon,
it has floated down to
darker side of continence.

You push the body in wall,
Coal burns in the eyes.
The shadow at last, leaves the body.

The high priest, goes for the copyright
and nerves explode in the books for
annular bulge of pride.

A simile was needed for a grain of sand
by cutting your wrists
and pouring the blood on the knives.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 19 marca 2013

DIVING

Forest was partisan
lilies blushing,
moon was parting the milky way,

on the terrace
the absurd man, and the spaces
missing,
the house locked in,

are left
wrecked manuscripts of attempts
to save the translations
of life’s books

Give me some language
to read again
from the walls

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 18 marca 2013

PERFECTION

Ashes:
I was gathering blue light
from your lynx-eyed vessel
of death.

Against terror
blind-folded, shot in the head
on road.

Earth was your bed
and a shimmering moon
your pillow.

It was apathy of gates
of heaven.
The mist grows heavy.

Daring to bare
the jugs of wine,
body walks on edge.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 17 marca 2013

TEASING

Tonight
when I come back
clad in wounded memories,
one seed deep
the pod would lie in the forest of hands,
I will wake you up in between
the kisses of moon.

The hawthorn lamps –
let me light the last unlit
of empty night, for a farewell
to a black rose, who had collected
the unpraised thorns.

The fugitive wind shuts the smart tears.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 16 marca 2013

A TREE WAS TALKING

He returned empty hands.
Death was casually running around
on charred bodies.

Was lank poetry of a ruthless god.
The house was on fire after
selling its children. The days were becoming
longer than life.

Casus belli, whom do you want to name
the culprit, when everybody was fighting
on a new front? We talk of truth in small
tablets, in small moments.

The hills were burning, one after the other.
Barefoot walking, all mind, mother earth
don’t go to sleep.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 15 marca 2013

TENDER RAGE

After the weep there was blankness,
then he started playing with fire
for existence, of a rain
which refused to shower.
It was a fierce night of a hidden drought.

A lethal dose of amnesia
dissipates the calmness of a hangman:
waiting to cut the cord of resistence:
moon will spy on the cold-blooded
murder of a white ego.

This was the aftermath of the soaring
food prices of soul songs. People were mowing
the tall grasses of dialects, sensing
the wind, onslaught of gathering storm.
Morning sky was pale and withdrawn, full of sorrow.

The dignity calls for the last prayer
for a lesser portrait!

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 14 marca 2013

BODY GAME

Alone to witness the crash I
invited the moon to walk with me
on the harsh terrain

of the agony of a poem,
I wanted to give it as a collateral
for a shadow,

who has moved away from me.
The moondrink I will need again
for no turning to flesh

in naked rain of words
which climb and fall on the wet mountain of
my belief: it was crumbling

before my own eyes. The forgetful
age trudges like a tired cow coming
back home in evening.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 13 marca 2013

SWARMING

A solid belief of karmic influence becomes
fluidus
but life was questioning again.

You take to wars
with thousand of nukes:
still the daffodils were dancing.

Float me on the bodies of bullet ridden
moons and clouds:
the red river, spiteful, has changed the course.

Ah, the snaky hate
hisses with split tongue.
Mockery of towers plays again.

The dumb leather did not forget
the shape of the baby.
million needles were still crawling.

Thick boundaries were steaming hard.
All nipples, no furs to walk
on the flames.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 12 marca 2013

DROUGHT IN RIVERBED

A randon creation
convulsed by grief.
Death of a pendant was not able
to recall the cleavage.

Kosher scream, the grandchildren
will not know the fakes of
reality show,

pure as honey, then the
scratching starts: look the tiger
was sitting on the branch.

Miracles will happen again
when the prince manipulates
the throne.

The dust melts in the local crowd.
Amid droughts there was a rivalary
to pick up the left over grains in field
between urchins and squirrels!

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 11 marca 2013

UNBELIEF

A detritus
of malaise, tugs at my solitary hour.
There was a question of stature
amongst the old fractured feet.

What was it which made you feel
taller than your own son?
I was looking at the antlers of a deer,
his round eyes were full of pallor,
I begin to talk in his tongue.

The terror of a man, a speeding car,
my childhood, moving in the dark corridor,
afraid of the unending highways.

Satish Verma