Satish Verma, 3 marca 2022
Unceremoniously―
you blow off the earthen lamp
after the night vigil.
Still stranger
to dark, you start self-destruction
in holy violence.
Was there any life
before death? You encounter
the crucified truth.
Now you wear the blue lake
to meet the moon―
in a forlorn sky.
I let you see
the falling star. It's heat
had savaged me.
Satish Verma, 2 marca 2022
Can you get the seizing
without an encounter,
like rapture of the deep?
It was me who was lost
in one sultry night,
when jasmine bloomed.
In night blindness, the
trembling soul, landed
on the blue lakes.
You would not look
at me, without alphabets―
in siege.
In contrast we meet―
to hurt each other.
Falling in love after smouldering.
The soot will chase us till the end.
Satish Verma, 1 marca 2022
Walking towards you
prudently, lighting
my bones, like candles
in dark.
For salvation. The
lone cobbler cheats on you.
He has placed the rough bricks
instead of cobblestones to cover
the surface.
Healer has become
avenger. Illicitly― drinks
from the virgin eyes, to
be called a survivor.
The cadaver vanishes.
There was no death of
any Fakir. Only flower bed―
will be the last darshan.
You win the battle, waging
inside you and
forget your name.
Satish Verma, 28 lutego 2022
I will not beg,
never. There were some mistakes.
You took a wrong turn
hitting below the waist.
It was a disaster. Asking
for the moon― for chilling.
Drugs make you unholy―
you try to whack the clouds.
I give, you take. But the
balance still remains. Somewhere
we don't meet and part with
unease of sea waves.
I am loosening the grip on me,
let go the legs to take me
nowhere. Unwrite the poem
meant for you.
Satish Verma, 27 lutego 2022
In deep depression,
clearing the emotional debris,
when your eyes speak―
I become dumb.
The skin mood alters.
Love was not racial.
A naked paper writes your will― that,
you no more belong to anyone.
Going down, down―
the man's ego. I stand on crossroads,
still undecided, your lips
white, eyes red.
The reapers will come again
to harvest the skulls, to
make necklaces. The greed wants
the biggest garland.
Stings are a plenty.
Satish Verma, 26 lutego 2022
A method cuts you out―
in hunger pangs,
to set you free from bonding
of four― leaf clover, or word.
Love has become a
one way pain, without libido―
in want of a fairy ring.
The maternal cost was high.
Drifting between the
black sea and dead sperms,
you want to raise a
new cult.
The religions betray.
Everything was marketed with
thumbed scripts.
Gods were threat to sane hymns.
I am trying to carve
a face, from the rocks, not
animal, not angel.
Satish Verma, 25 lutego 2022
Lying in congealed blood.
You cannot wipe off the stigma.
Moon still shines.
A blitz sends a chilling
message. It is what
it was not.
The narcissism was on
rise. The center was always
in you, falling in love.
Perfectly in disharmony.
A snake eating itself
in great joy. Do you?
Just walk with me.
Don't say anything. We will
enter the black hole together.
Satish Verma, 24 lutego 2022
You walk into a trap.
The self-search must start
after the accident in hearth.
The fire has failed―
to ignite the thruth.
No more questions would
come. The shrine will receive
all the answers.
The system wants to know
what went wrong to
identify the protégé of crisis?
You know mimosa. It behaves
like a sensitive person. Touch it and
its leaflets fold together like
greetings and bend down asking
to exit.
The violence erupts. A god has no say.
Satish Verma, 23 lutego 2022
‘Twas your ghost
to secure the promise,
that you would not commit
yourself to the story.
An island sin
confronts the sea
of tears. Was it an
emotional kill?
Did you hear the
sound of moon? It has
come down in the space
where we used to cross the arms.
That was my raw poem.
I had mentioned your solemn
departure. I don't believe
in blaspheme. God would know.
Fever for no misdemeanor.
We walk away on our
different paths.
Satish Verma, 22 lutego 2022
The pain cycle
celebrates the pitfall,
dedicates to the eternal flame
of catharsis.
Syllables were ready to
burn word by word,
orchestrated for a
random repeat.
Like blue veins opening
in dark without spilling the―
blood. But no answers
were coming to compliment you.
Image of self in mirror
sometimes frightens. Now
you begin living without―
body, metaphysically.
A bonfire starts.
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