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	Satish Verma
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Satish Verma, 21 grudnia 2012

PAIN OF ELEGY

When logic and intuition
stood on edge of time,
sugar was dancing
on the salt lake.

I would not see the torn
book between retreat
and assault.
I was reining in the new moon.

In a night raid, five
peacocks were killed. I was
trying to unseize the cross purpose,
why the compensation was rejected
at burial site.

The burden of guilt
was carried by the flint now.
You take a final plunge
and are lost in the faces
of sad children.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 19 grudnia 2012

INTEGRITY

For an ailing love maker
ending was optional.
Nobody wanted to extend the truth
and hear the distant voices.

Half-waiting to divide the territory,
splinters will unravel the mystery.

A food chain slits the tongue, reaching, not reaching.

In the island of lonliness
somebody has left me midway in eternal twilight.

Amidst the stars
a river forgets the time, and moon
scrapes the sky.

A new pledge may bring back the sun.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 18 grudnia 2012

INTROSPECTION

Living against the food amnesia
gold bricks call for austerity
in passage of the hunger.

Canons hanging in their necks
it was the silence of death.
Whispers were floating in night.

The bodies will free us from
gold cure, tasting the forbidden salt
of stale lead of spices.

We will forget the color of lips
when you cry. Time falls
like a dead sparrow on faithless head.

When you hold a hollyhock
I look at the crescent moon
who was taking a shower after disrobing.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 17 grudnia 2012

SPELLBOUND

Death sits in wait
in the empty valley
of your sleeper cell.

The confession of a guilt
liberates the funeral
of a martyr.

Give me your breasts
for a modular test.
Don’t let the milk go waste.

Your pearly teeth
were biting negativity of the red
chilli of dark sex

before the sunrise
in a kingdom of debris
of long names.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 15 grudnia 2012

PATTERN

Handprint of innerself was
writ large in your eyes.
I hear you in your becoming.

Are you me and me are you in sameness?
The words and silence?

I hope you are listening to the waves,
from inside, from outside.

Sometimes we were talking with our skin only.
The sea was roaring on the shores.

When fog retreats, we know each other
in abandonment as fish in water of life.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 14 grudnia 2012

WORDLESS SILENCE

Yes, your name was sliced off
from the impasse. I will stand with you
to track the continental drift. How little
I knew about you and the prosthetic words.
Again and again I return to ruins, and
the dust and crumbling absence. Eyes
will speak for the wordless silence now.

Who will tell the truth for the murdered
thought? The cognitive silence? You don’t
want to see the light. The soul sits outside
the body. Pollution hits the mind. The words
eat the emptiness of facts and lies. A vertical
descent of speech.I should not have
listened to cries.

A memory moves in zigzag manner, accepts
the odyssey of man’s failing gods.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 13 grudnia 2012

WORDLESS SILENCE

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Satish Verma, 12 grudnia 2012

*DEPRESSION

There was thunder in the hut
teeth clattered under the ground.
Handcuffed you walk in inequality
to qualify for hanging till dead.
I may not tell myself
what was happening to me.

Moving in opposite direction
the bird was able to catch the smell.
My stance was always making a stroke
in the canvas of a tormentor
abbreviated in a muscular arm
starting violences of sleep.

Corralled in doorframes, keeping
the lights off, this was the nemesis
for asking for the change. Haungered, the
human being, absorbed by the
absence of chains which were not
coming in sight.

*On the fate of Kanu Sanyal, founder of naxalite movement, who hanged himself to death on 23th March 2010.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 10 grudnia 2012

INTENSITY

Trapped in staircase,
huddled in dark,
you cannot go up.
you cannot go down.

The succession wars
have started again.
Bending the laws,
molesting, disowning.

The predator will get away
eating the gold,
the paradise.
You are left with the lantern.

Burn, burn my kisses.
The heat will melt the eyes,
the snow of the hill.
the glass of a virgin.

Satish Verma