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	Satish Verma
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Satish Verma, 8 marca 2012

REVISING

The fleshless hands
lift the obscene violence of man
for life after.

The vacant eyes
will search for the keys
to open the sea

of blood,
faltering on umbrella of
imitation rain of democracy.

Age reaches the wolf’s den
I am sitting under the clouds.
Bullets are pouring.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 8 marca 2012

NEED NOT SUFFER

The tears were walking along with
laughter. My face was roasted.
The fish-men were moving
the political wheels.

As the chaos was widening,
the humming birds started to depart.
And the seeds were catching fire
from anonymous snipers.

The candle march at night
gleamed the question marks.
The dirt, the smudges, the motifs
and viscera, all were becoming one.

And the grass stinks with the
fallen monarchy, after dismantling
the author of funerals. Give me
a final kiss of death for baring life.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 7 marca 2012

Ungoing

Incredible moon
tips the hallucinating tree.
Lake propels the waves to limbs
and strips to bank.

I wear my lightning
and enter into a process
outside body. The night
betrays and goes back to sun.

There is a frame of truth to be claimed
in a black sac, who slashed
his neck for the deity
of widening freedom.

Turn right, where the trembling
nation stands to pick up the fallen heroes.
I am going to write an epitaph
with my blood on the wind chimes.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 6 marca 2012

SUCKING BLATANTLY

This was the pain through the window
in humility.
Cannot catch a break in rambling
rose,
arrying the dead crown of
a tryant.

The blindness makes
a presence.
People are bidding farewell
to the bloody son.

I want to come in death
now, after thousand years,
living in violence
of man.

The untouchable moon
was laughing.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 6 marca 2012

TWIST MY HEART AGAIN

Reached,
not yet pubescence:
a cloud says, moon was
crazy, treading on a
forbidden lake of frozen tears.

Breaking fast unto death
for releasing the doves
in sky of hymns.

The gametes were weary.
Procreation will wait.
Let the dark particles
start a ceremony of scoops
to carry the impatient twister
inside me,

to pull off the yokes and
set the flames free.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 4 marca 2012

Cannot Say

On a hollow path
you had failed
carrying the loaves of bread
in biting cold of politics
scaring the lips.

I was standing near
the dawn in praise of dark.
The sharks were coming.

Here goes the marble floor
for drowning in black blood.
The fire between the palaces
was eating the golden thighs.

I think flowers have gone
to drink from the little ponds
near the escaped souls
of scribes and guns.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 4 marca 2012

STOKING

Just a sip on verge,
man was eating a mountain,
forgetting carnations.

A peacock sits on the belly
of a torchbearer
for a credible crime.

One Buddha fails today.
Turns around
and goes back to his princess.

Give me blood money
to kill myself
for sitting under a bo tree.

I do not seek any bliss, do not need any home.
The stoker will not stop hurling the insults.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 4 marca 2012

GNAWED THROUGH

A fat island burns
under a looming sun.
Bleeding rays will enter your eyes
to see the blundering world.

The gods were melting down
looking at the corpses of
faltering orchids, spread out
at the feet of a white blaze.

The oriole sheds the gold
and embraces a brown –
black cloud against
a dazzling green.

A dishevelled country rumbles
to get a street sense from
a meditating Buddha.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 29 lutego 2012

Radicalism

The coming of a that
to dismantle the comb,
unstilling trees under tracer bullets
swaying in embrace
for moonmilk.

The unzipped planktons in sea
open their mouth to supermoon for a night dive
in a green passion. Does it
need a scrutiny? Why a love song
has tarnished the icy mounds?

The venom
of hissing light on a sleeping bay
has erased the aging lines of art
and face was becoming a terror.
There will be no mercy now
for survivors.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 29 lutego 2012

SERIAL DEPLETION

Effectively in givenness;
stranger in one’s own house
you search the detritus for a lost face.

Stay closer to me, O walls
I am catching fire. Draw the blood from
my veins and taste me.

The otherworldly glow
of the compound was a testimony:
you cannot buy democracy.

What would you do
with the waste of technology
standing on a heap of shoes?

Satish Verma