Satish Verma, 29 grudnia 2021
A blood retreats―
through the gift of tears.
Pain has no religion.
Why did you search the
truth in ashes?
A command goes waste.
I didn't call a god
for mercy.
The dust leaps for wings.
Rain leaves no scars.
I will come back
to gather the washed bones.
A rusted wound has no thoughts left.
Satish Verma, 28 grudnia 2021
Trying to understand the
impossible, I will
reach for you or your
hidden libido.
Gynaecomastia.
Life span cut short by
despondency. A woman
speaks for sex change.
Poverty of thoughts, and―
death of a theme. It
was the one-way street in a
ghost town.
Something to serve in
the way of courtesy, when
you start imploding
to celebrate the arrival of ash.
Satish Verma, 27 grudnia 2021
Do you know my
love, where the road ends
I will meet you
one day.
Life had been always angry
with me. Sometimes I would
sit quietly, doing nothing, and
looking at the hanging―
earlobes of Buddha.
Cannot hone my thoughts,
how to stop the violence.
The Sunday moon―
cracks open like a cotton flower.
The vandals,
I am done with. The headstones
separate the faiths. It was
a punishment.
O bronzed man, don't
hide the gold.
Satish Verma, 26 grudnia 2021
Dying was not worth
living. Your journey
starts for unknown.
Why were you fixated to
watch the small men―
milk the moon?
It was very expensive to
buy a decent death.
Religion makes it dirty.
Do you remember the myth
of Sisyphus? I love to
carry my rock without a face.
Not quality of life. It
was a matter of degrees
when you feel liberated.
Satish Verma, 25 grudnia 2021
Dying was not worth
living. Your journey
starts for unknown.
Why were you fixated to
watch the small men―
milk the moon?
It was very expensive to
buy a decent death.
Religion makes it dirty.
Do you remember the myth
of Sisyphus? I love to
carry my rock without a face.
Not quality of life. It
was a matter of degrees
when you feel liberated.
Satish Verma, 23 grudnia 2021
Do you know the
truth of lies, when
something goes wrong?
You pick up the names
from private dialogues,
to hurt yourself.
Increasingly on edge,
You release the―
doves, to reach the affiliates.
To buy some time
for a debate, I put
off all the lamps.
Why the amnesia,
becomes a blessing in
celebrating the mass beheadings?
Satish Verma, 21 grudnia 2021
You fault me for
a silent poem.
In infinity of this moment.
I catch the miracle
of unspoken words.
Let me not forget
the way you look at
me via tears.
Why buttercups were
poisonous, untasting you?
Even a simile touch
brings a shudder in leaves.
Give me a kiss of parting,
only you can give. For
ages I will remember the sting.
Satish Verma, 20 grudnia 2021
Chinks― honest to nails,
averting the wants.
It was very dark here.
My screams were not reaching to you.
The sublety seeps
into conversation. Salt was
very bitter. Tears swirl at
the banks of hurts. The stains
were becoming darker.
Poachers were honing
their pens. Someone falls
out of line, to take revenge
on the gods.
Weather was changing.
No dress code was needed
to take a dip in holy water.
A moon crunch will meet you in nude.
Satish Verma, 19 grudnia 2021
Killer was brown―
not white. Snowfall
covers the wounds of earth.
No questions were
asked for the body
lying in your lap.
Invisible was the
hurt, inflicted on my soul―
for not paying the debt.
Let the myth of
glory fall of the man.
It insults the god.
Satish Verma, 18 grudnia 2021
Dual to one another,
I became
a victim's faith.
Collapsing at
far side of the moon, before
I remembered ars poetica.
There was a motive
behind the question, in
between the teary answers.
It was not possible to find
peace, in verses, on the loud
lake at night.
Will ask myself
again, why not to set
the boat on fire?
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