poetry

poetry
Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 27 august 2021

The Final Retreat

In reality― you were
in a ring of fire. I had been
left with no claim on you.
Your failure had become mine.

This was not the game―
changer. Moon had latched
on the watery eyes. Synapsis
had started to break away.

The god wears different
apparels― as per the need of the
occasion. Nobody is going to say,
rest in peace.

Gradually I will stop
speaking about myself. When
my time comes, I will lose everything
and set you free.

The blind eagle will find its abode.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 26 august 2021

The Fugitive

Bending the gravity
you start falling upward.
There was―
no distinction between earth and sky.

Unsaid thoughts without words
blend. A sign language conveying
the ageless twinge
of a faceless spirit.

Against the outrage of morals,
flatness becomes deep. The
quality suffers. Inception
invites the crime.

Strange things happen. Man
becomes a fireball, torching
the domes, shrines and littering
the streets with newborns.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 25 august 2021

Self-Portrait

Life inside the doors―
mocks the nature.
Still life. Cup and Vase.

You lived for others
and died for me.
I become homeless.

In charity, the body
becomes water.
Gold sinks.

Very precious for me.
The hurts―
you gave me unasked.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 24 august 2021

A Suspended Rock

Your freckles should not
go like innocence. Sun
was overlapping the galaxies.

I become whole for a while,
when you cry for the blueberry
moon in vain.

Why the night dips into your blue eyes?

No irony. I will wait
for you on the burning deck.

The schism was widening.
An animal living inside me
wants to raise his head.

The loser gets the inky jet
to cover his body. How about
getting a glimpse of lightning
walking down the road?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 23 august 2021

Uncrafted

To become yourself,
declaring war―
for inequality.

Who was supremacist
in the pygmy owls―
nondescript voices?

The termites had
stopped making
anthills as nest.

The tall grass
now hides the migrant
labourers.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 22 august 2021

Cobwebs

It was difficult to
rewrite one's own death―
on parchment paper. The cloudburst,
had washed away your writ.

The cadaver turns around
and talks. Faith and fire going together.
A flickering light from the brown
eyes, would tell about Advaita. The
nonduality of pain and body.

You can become painless―
if you leave the physical and
watch yourself intently.

Captivity crumbles. You want
to make sure, the bread does not
come between desire and grief.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 august 2021

For No Obvious Reason

When I wanted
to stop you, the flame was
snuffed out by an invisible hand.

I let the missing link
go. My body turns blue.

You return back the
rusted coins. Fountain was
dry. Someone was going insane.

An albino touch with
blue eyes― the planet quivers
in chill.

A punishment for
remaining brown in the
crowd of white lilies.

Summer is breathing
last. Frozen lips now stop the flight.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 august 2021

It Is Raining

Syllepsis. A story goes.
You can kill two―
birds with one eye.

Your charisma does
not work.
Solomon has failed.

Not difficult to live
in a shell, if you
are a white pearl.

In aloneness, you
meet yourself on the
way to morgue.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 august 2021

Metempsychosis

Why would you need a
miracle to become human, after
shedding the skin?

In smoke screen you
become a lizard, creeping on lips,
hips, and chest of an ignorant person.

Verbs would roll down to
explain the gorgeous valley
of sylvian fissure. You had stopped
thinking after tequila.

The agave blooms once in a century
and dies. The man becomes
beast in one night and lives for ever.

Anguish calls. I don't hear my voice.
Become brain-dead, to meet my―
blue gods―


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 august 2021

We The Faithful

Blue moon of white night, wants―
to bring down the sky
in a spiritual bliss.

Talking of reincarnation,
I am skinned alive, like
a cadaver, talking ceaselessly.
You are burning sans fire.

In absence of god, you
become a god father
to a beautiful progeny.

Leave aside the lineage.
On the horizion, a flock
of swans was returning
home to spread the watercolors.

The recluse comes out from the oblivion
to greet the inevitable.


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