Prognosis
Did you foresee it? It was coming.
The freaked guilt of failed attempt
to get yourself kissed by a flame in the
androgynous temptation of dark.
One legitimate delay in dying of moon’s
tears? The weather had fizzled out during wild
winds and the summer was slowly starting a
whispering campaign against the clouds.
My enemy for sweet revenge will not
halt the attack.A bouncing vision will
start the fire engulfing the singing
trees of drenched art. The floods of intimatcies
were coming.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Rising Curtain
Sun tears into
clouds. Between oaks
climbs a rainbow.
Drenched, I scoop
the eyes in a trance
whispering rain.
Widening moon
like a talisman in -
a shriveled hand.
poem by Satish Verma
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Annex The Belief
A dialogue with fear,
to end the thought,
was walking alone on the edge of death.
All the mercy of life was with it.
Gone were the waves,
whispering, back to the sea of mundane paucities.
The sky and the pain were there.
Again a question of collective guilt was rising.
So much noise was coming
without any resemblance
with the damaged certainties.
An act of voiceless jealousy was starting for the ethnic slur.
It will not disappear
a conjugation between light and dark.
Can truth annex the belief
with a half hitch?
poem by Satish Verma
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Let Me Go Into Snow
Audacity to live with your demons,
putting up a fake love belief,
who was the time,
of that dark night? Distinctly alive to what
I was not just putting up the shades of death
into nothingness of peace in war.
Searching for self in capacious hope,
was it the half-light of a moon,
slipped on the words of a hoisted grief?
A wild truth was better than silken ribbons
of fabricated lies. I am tired of playing
games on the turf of synthetic desires.
It would be time again, for what was time,
encapsulated in crazy dialogues of taking on
a chaste enemy. I will give my life for
a bright red rose in absence of sun, drenched
in fire and burning in dew drops, for the
flowering of melting snow.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Homecoming
The yellow beaked vultures were waiting.
A cloth bag contains the bleached
remains; his father.
Impeccable gift unmasked.
After the inferno, hydrants went dry. The guilt survives
the dispossession, pondering over the black dew
now covering the pink roses.
The illusion persists. Master is coming home.
jug was empty. A miracle will start
the kitchen. An infant cries in the backyard.
The windows were sleeping. Let the sun
stand outside. A yellow moon at night will
open the door.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Moods
coming out of the frame,
in evening without a sun, unflinchingly,
he said, he was talking to his father
daily, in his mind, who was in grave,
(when he was on ventilator)
about a lesson of deception, about the things
evolved in endogamy,
cherubic, it seems, but there was water on the moon too,
in solitude, on gravel, under the rocks;
he kept on washing his hands for hours,
to remove the dirt and stigma, gathered on shaking
the lamps around the dark and then he started
collecting the flowers from the embroidery
of clouds
do not cry in the afternoon
SATISH VERMA
poem by Satish Verma
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Hallucination
Watching the ascension
of half-moon from the brown hills
there was a blast in veins.
A raw hope strokes the clouds.
Starting a fire in stars,
making you blind.
Till the eyelids become heavy
with guilt, striving. Waking up
in middle of blue.
I was trying to reach you, when you
were not there,
wounding me in void.
poem by Satish Verma
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Dark Trees
Coming home in pure dark,
The trees bounding over,
Their prickly ends and pointed arms,
It seems as if they’re going to become alive,
Roam the streets,
Searching for friends, family,
In the warmth that is still carried,
And maybe eventually the sheer cold,
The trees lean over,
Staring at every step taken,
You would start to wonder,
Will they pounce to attack?
Their long prickly arms, reaching,
For attack...
Maybe, they'll have traps prepared,
Never moving, only planning,
In the darkness that surrounds them,
Talking, forever,
Gleaming, breathing,
Moving the leaves they may have left,
Or the branches, swaying,
Maybe this is what they do in the dark,
Plan, retreat if in problems,
The dark trees will carry on though,
Through the dark times in history,
They strive, maybe one day to attack,
With the prickly arms and branches,
With the Darkness from the Trees,
Really coming out,
Causing oblivion and trouble,
Those Dark Trees... mischief...
poem by Viraj Bhanshaly
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An Acid Rain
This is it, I want to say.
An acid rain falling each evening
and you, reading a poem
surrounded by flame – attendants.
Nothing moves farther than activism.
Conversation centers around the flares
on the surface of an orange sun,
a big hole coming up in the ozone layer.
You are an ocean, needs penetration
of inquiry. Running a relay race in
a big cage to keep the torch
burning. Clouds in the sky
objecting to full moon, coming up,
nonchalantly. Landscape rips – off
the ideas from the thorn
in the heart.
poem by Satish Verma
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Stepping Out
In the valley of death
one more guest arrives.
By my sleep, there is a soul search.
Take off the lid from silence.
Unlach the door.
The wounded sun was coming.
Be my grief to wash the eyes.
Unclench my fist.
I want to write the name of fallen god.
Inhale the sulphur and
draw the moon.
Night was coming to take revenge.
An obituary will glorify
the asylum.
An alien will enter the skin.
poem by Satish Verma
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A Touch Of Class
The tree, the sky, the moon, of
summer prick the eyes.
We suffer majestically.
The aberrations will
now rule the city.
Incorruptible winds
languished in crooked lanes.
A pale hand will paint the unlatched doors.
When stars meditate in unison,
moon upcurves.
The blue becomes dark,
my eyes climb the hill.
The day has ended without a conclusion.
Clouds are frightened.
Virtue when cuts open the heart,
it does not bleed.
Pseudo reality reigns,
and we amputate the limbs without analgesics.
The philosophy of being
is quietly murdered.
Green leaves start dying.
A terrible dream flicks the hope,
a touch of class with littleness.
poem by Satish Verma
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Agony
Let me douse this flame
with tears.
My nightingale will sing no more.
Ringed by dragons,
I decide to tie knot with a tempest.
When the birds start dying
the frightened choir becomes dumb.
I wait for the butterfly effect:
the thought was deeper than pain.
Tension arises. I see the face
of a moon. Bound but free.
My security starts a guilt. It was immoral.
The forgetful, yellow bones of
a thin father, with a gift to fathom
the flute, takes hold of the wind.
poem by Satish Verma
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Clawing Night
The waves crash at your threshold.
You had given me lot of tears:
I was dying in me-
in veiled existence. I want to hear me
loudly; my secret coming,
across the book in black box.
The androgynous deity
limping back to shore.
The claws, gnawing, stretching, giving
arterial push to the dead thighs
of ailing planet. First purple, then black
gangrene appears on the toes.
Chase of wealthy robes, spilling of sperms
for sake of virility. The slicing of time
gives dividend to survivors.
poem by Satish Verma
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Footprints In Dark
Diplomacy of inconstancy
unmeets the urgency. Aura
of brilliance was falling in your feet.
After the death, it was not a name,
only a frozen body.We moved backward
swiftly, to find out the footprints in dark.
Winter was becoming harsh and
less meaningful. A weak muscle brokers
a peace for dewdrops on rose petals.
I become an earlier story, failed.
Pick up the moon rocks
and start throwing them at sun.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Bodhisattava
For the sake of lake, I climbed
on the weeping hills
to see the other side of moon.
The precipice of hunger weighs heavily
on shoulders.
Capricious time moves inwardly,
Strikes at the chest.
I set free the love-birds.
Conflict of trees tramples the grass
All summer the smell of dry winds
was scorching tear drops.
Every word was crying.
Dark in my city
I am wandering alone in alleys
of hostile homes.
The collective guilt of the flesh
blazes the mind.
poem by Satish Verma
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Collective Guilt
For the sake of lake, I climbed
on the weeping hills
to see the other side of moon.
The precipice of hunger weighs heavily
on shoulders.
Capricious time moves inwardly,
Strikes at the chest.
I set free the love-birds.
Conflict of trees tramples the grass
All summer the smell of dry winds
was scorching tear drops.
Every word was crying.
Dark in my city
I am wandering alone in alleys
of hostile homes.
The collective guilt of the flesh
blazes the mind.
poem by Satish Verma
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Conversation
There was no end
to looking inside.
I was crumbling.
Unnamed homing in
of anguish,
not knowing me.
The wasted questions
of revival.
A depleted dawn of a failed sun?
A river war
between two hills
for a moon?
Time to ask
motor neurons,
why night had failed at ending?
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Abandoned
the punctuations
start crumbling
a soldier
falls to coyotes
this was their space
a moon was sitting
in waiting room
inhabiting war at
a defining moment
it was a fatal attack from
the guards impersonal
ripping through the passions
to hold or not to hold
the fruit – end was near
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Unending
In downy pink I watch you go
my sun,
at night you will pluck moon flowers.
In half-moon eclipse
the morning glory will wake me up
in dew, alighting whole night
on the rose branch. I still smell
your lips. The head aches in
singing dark.
Welcome again, my ghosts of new year.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Enormous Guilt
Cannot stare
coming on terror radar. Every night there
was Celsius rise in deadpeace. The climate
debt of a dark cloud was changing.
What is going to happen, tell me blindfolded.
We have a never or nothing attitude. The
roads were on edge, grazing under a blood
spinning midnight lamp, like a whipped
up cream of convenient truths. A subterranean
anger was banging against the wailing
wall. We did little in our synchronized
failure. Nobody was going to blink.
A tooth was smashed by a flying missile
of a homegrown myth. The glacier was
shy of a black fire. A holy moon becomes
opaque in white winter.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Singing Dust
Bring out your integrity
genesis is imploding
in the murderous womb.
Multilinear mutinies have started
in red blooms
igniting the sky.
An old woman walks on the street
eating the shadows of sun.
The king will give her a gift of moon.
How the earth has been flattened
by the pawns of Resurrection?
Life has never been the same.
Purely undone for the death
milk of silence in dark.
The cow is sitting on the singing dust.
Fear was not me I was listening
the wheezing sound of changing winds.
The snakes are coming out of the trenches.
poem by Satish Verma
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