Satish Verma, 25 listopada 2012
You toppled the invisible
burning the unburied buttons
joining the history of names.
Will I be able to communicate
with straw to find out the age
of the unarrived seeds?
There is too much violence in
green blood. The broken tooth
bled to death of a truth. The
oratory was becoming a weapon
to break your mirrors. Will there
ever be peace to flying guests?
A service should be rendered
to the poem who burned like a
candlelight in the stormy night.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 24 listopada 2012
Among the crania, clouds allowed
a variation of sky. The hominids
stood up and started a stride, with
long steps towards noxious future.
The cobalt was emitting radiation
turning you black, melting your bones,
suppressing the marrow. On the thigh
climbs the holocaust.
A child in polythene, O golden god
you have killed the man by giving him
the gifts. The sand-pit, I am buried
alive in it before I understood.
Of stones, a voice was rising. Do
we address the deep water disappearing
fast in the mind? A projectile to
be worshipped?
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 23 listopada 2012
The hurt begins to move
and meets in a funeral procession.
For aging fireworks this was the last chance,
but lake had dried up.
There was no fall tonight of the moon
All the stars had gone for a memorial service.
The candle light vigil begins with a sole survivor.
The genotypes will multiply.
The legend had the last breath
and then walked away in a big whole.
I were you, to take the revenge
from the sobbing me who sent the body
without a soul.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 22 listopada 2012
I was not indifferent to graffiti
but oracle was telling a different story
of embellished arms race
about the mathematics of terror.
Less comprehensible
I presume.
But who was transparent and
simple today.
A wisp was rising among the hills.
We do not want to know,
is it scattering the cobalt?
Toys calling the masters?
And that sinking feeling,
they were singing money
in fake currency which
was not hot.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 21 listopada 2012
Rain of victims.
Crossing a parched field
a summer moon was laughing
like a naked lie.
I intend to lie in state,
no grass was going to cry.
A red spot was growing
on your chest.
Were you shot in heart?
Creeping, they want to put the sandal paste
on the dome.
I walk waist-high between
the kneeling heads.
Who were the inmates of the
black house,
which was so sexy?
I do not mean anything, over the head
a kite was flying.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 20 listopada 2012
A hidden self portrait
in a tar pit
I do not want to explore further.
Wind was making a big sound
the tarp blowing off,
I stand naked under the scortching sun.
A classless pain rises fiercely
I am careless about my height
amdist tall peaks.
Hypodermic, my little dachshund
holds the time in small paws
and plays with my stasis.
I loose my taste of salt on lips
charting between the tears
of infant fears.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 19 listopada 2012
The particulate allegories
were tossed around.
The wheels had refused
to exit.
Unscathed, phrases
were erupting in pulses.
There was flame and ice
Inherent -
in the silicate of
wedded friendship.
Who was afraid of the bed
in heydays
of thorns down the roses?
An endless journey for the
bleeders in labyrinthine life
of yes and no.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 18 listopada 2012
Coming face to face with hemlock
you are not able to rain in the animal
nd start climbing the temperamental tree.
Fathered by innocence of violence
on the name of war, when were you
going to kill? Your own progency?
Slice by slice I am collecting the
wrath of tinderbox, dry winds
and volcano for the sake of peace.
And I hear the night’s arrival
without moon, without stars.
The black needles will stitch the wounds of sun.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 17 listopada 2012
Why did you have to come in this world
to become a medical waste?
There was no urgency to dropp in
and then remain unnoticed,
with no symptoms of life.
Later scooped by a dumper
you are thrown on garbage.
Vertical hope becomes synonym
for a peak spewing lava.
A collage sits in my eyes.
Yet I wipe out tears of anonymity.
The night comes to hold me in black arms.
After the squall
there was the rain and
unrelenting moon.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 16 listopada 2012
Myriad of grasshoppers were sitting
on the leapless bush
celebrating the earth.
I was never happy
with the anniversary of thirst
eating the memories of green.
His hand rummages
to collect the shrunk berries
from my chest.
Today the sun will step down
in honour of a cloud
who opened a hole in a collider
I am the mother
and I am the father
of a homeless moon.
Satish Verma
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