Raging Moon
Homecoming under the moon
devoid of pain.
When did the clock turned back?
You are becoming a child.
My journey opens
in a dark wound.
A promise to walk blindfolded,
when only the footfalls are audible.
The distance between the homes
was increasing.
Your own shadow becomes a stranger:
mystery of defining the life.
Living among cannibals,
aides ready to drag your carcass
unfolding your truth
falling in dust.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Happy Valley Of Stings
I don’t fake the pain
pain was me.
A grafted rose opens up along the road rage.
This was the city of my birth
my oblivion, my reincarnation
ejaculated from the dark.
Here I found the golden dust
nuggets of truth
and the nostalgia of a broken moon.
The marble white love
and green bowl of arms
a happy valley of stings.
The sun backtracks on hills
when I walk on sands
leaving the deep scars.
A small horizon was my window
hunger of nightingales on branches.
The tree was walking in, my house.
poem by Satish Verma
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Returning
You come home, sitting on my shoulders.
I bid you farewell at door. Death tiptoes in dark
before looking at the bare hands. A new concept of
ending comes out from crozier. Uncoiling has stopped.
In loincloth a truth unravels the mystery of cells. A
warm transparency. You walk around objectively,
returning the gifts to birds, bees and aspens. It
was time not to put up excuses. The wings are tired
and wind was falling.
Let the dance of nothingness start!
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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The Twilight
You start abbreviating the pretention,
caring for the end of a perennial revenge –
of slain truth, finding depth in arguments
which will spawn more violence.
Come my friend, come. Sit with me.
Let us search together the solitary
death in living past. Ultimate space was
a great deception of the eternal silence.
Clayey mood again depicts the pain
between your moons. I go for a play in dust
of time. The beats of heart will not wear
a sword now.
One hope finds a moon-belt on the hills
where the shadows walk with stars.
I will wait for the sun to rise.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Of Burning
From here to you
a legacy of dust was deepening.
I was reading a lot
between the dots.
You will get another master
I will get another pain.
In the maze of tunnels
a fear of fall snips.
A window becomes a man
unbuttoning the skin.
A body starts scratching
a secret.
The earthly sense warns
of a whiff of a stranger,
at the door in dark.
Like a ripe tear
I will not betray the eye -
in this grey hour.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Landscape
Thinking was seeing through the time,
was a lone journey from naïve
understanding. Return was difficult,
back to bricks and forlorn shores.
How many beginnings had failed;
the doors locked, cobwebs, dust, smoke,
crowded with dangling hopes. Flywheels
broken. DNA twisted, life – in – heaps.
The purpose, warts and all, salvation,
as long as footnotes guided between
restless nights. Melancholy of space in
the bed. Silence of portraits.
A peacock explodes, defining the boundary,
then a chorus of approval. An owl hoots.
The candle kisses the creases of dark.
Moon swells.
poem by Satish Verma
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A Cracked Visit
The other sex was stapled,
I started unfolding the secret:
what was static and who was silent.
I searched, therefore I was lost
before the end of journey.
The stench of grafting was taking over.
The incendiary recce was carried out
to shut out the voice of the street
in the melting snow.
Lake will find the woods for disquieting
sleep of muse under the blue-lipped moon,
and I will face my night.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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NAKED FREEDOM (A sequel to the massacre of 23rd Nov 09 in Philippines)
Intended to violate
the omnipresent,
stillness unzips the inviolate –
truth.
You walk through a legend:
To test the chastity
you need to dip your hand
in a very hot oil.
A sleepless summer night
descends on the hill
violins in dark
lie mutilated.
Hidden tracks will not tell
from where came the pattern
of enemies entering
the bloodied moon.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Path Of Destiny
The questions haunt
the genes who could’t stay
in flesh and a womb.
A winter moon picks up
the forgotten trail.
Night slaps a white cloud on my eyes.
A face swims on a lake.
A splash of color.
A yellow leaf falls
on the path of destiny
the moon enters a tree.
Burden of arithmetic shifts.
I take a break from my pain.
A star twinkles hesitantly
outlines a shadow.
I watch a violet flame.
The fear sprints.
I run towards a non-truth
Revenge of love overwhelms,
journies to zero pain.
Inward window opens to more queries.
Life revisits, ignites the dark spaces.
Intimate trust melts like lava.
poem by Satish Verma
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Kupfernickled
Looked downward –
the granite face,
to see imprinted kupfernickeled
god, lying in dust.
From where to where
we have come sleepwalking?
In freezing winds, like brown angels
with swollen lids.
White moon-poised to commit suicide?
Blindfolded heavy as lead
in the trade of spared lies?
Back pain will carry us not very far.
Green stems have yellow leaves now.
We start blaming ourselves
to keep the winter away,
in torn shirts.
poem by Satish Verma
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Serene Revenge
Unmoored in twilight, my most visible
hands were ready to slam on the moon
of stains to bring out the water of life.
A secondhand night was waiting for
an explosion,
which never came. How long will we go
to find the peace in surrogate truths
surrounded by thorns on lips? I was hanging
a painting of a fall in happy valley of
gender artists,
which I never appreciated. The high heeled
power of legs was no match to beautiful nails.
The walk on the ramp betrayed the ancient
footfalls reaching nowhere to nothingness on
revolving planet.
The masqueraders are still roaming free on
parole to snatch a prize for extraordinary
darkness generated by stars on the faces
of orphans tattooed by the whips of silence,
after all they were flung flowers.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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God Of Blessings
Moon-scented I walk in dark
to put me back in place,
unwithered,
opening the inner casket for a glow.
Pleading not guilty
after killings in bed, of affectionate
kill of lies, a black widow
romps around with a flag of morality.
Was it a systemic swallowing
of a bait put up by a shipwreck?
The bodies were flowing in a row
in caldron of acrimony.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Oldie
One day I will meet you
on a dirt track
and ask about back yard
where moon lives.
Will you give me a kiss of the clock?
I have forgotten the back years.
Autumn now takes care of my assets
and I keep on erasing the names.
O, harvest moon, don’t go away.
I was playing with the black thoughts
eating the yellow grass,
learning the alphabet of white pain.
It was a crystal midmoon, dark animal,
who has taken away all the tears.
poem by Satish Verma
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Death Was Pure
When moon will wash my doors
I will come out in night
to find you in dark
and lose you in light.
Does it resonate with you
O my truth
O my pain
time has moved back.
My love whitens the shadow
of a black rose in the nakedness of waking.
Do not want to disappoint the sun
and enter into a grain.
I am the stillness and I am
the noise. Motherless I am born
in black water
of immaculate death.
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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Effrontery
After scarring, the big gap
confronts a mascot.
The caster is telling a lie.
Under shock and anger
you start cursing the renegade truth.
Black windows now perceive the light.
Nobody wants to catch the dust now,
falling from the stars.
War of words comes to disarming of
wailing hands.
I reconcile with the setting sun.
Back and forth, back and forth
the unabashed, moves a bridal moon.
poem by Satish Verma
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Where He Was
Meditation was futile.
He turned his back
from the green prayers.
The state had made a mockery of his love.
The words were not clear
written on the periphery of pain.
He fathered
dust to dust, his light
folded his trembling hands,
lying on jaundiced bed.
Syntax was rising.
He stood alone amidst landmines
malice for none, beast and history.
The stones were falling from sky.
The punished was partaking the blows,
where he was
others were absent.
poem by Satish Verma
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Unborn
you enter the lair again
dun – colored
shrapnel was on your lips
to hear your truth I lay down
the book
and look beyond the acid rain
falling after the explosion
the yellow flames still lapping
against the crater walls
jasmines were alive
dented memories wer climbing
on hills before you can unsee
the moon bleeding to death
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Interrupted
Like a pause in pain
I ring the bell
of homecoming. I was ready
to meet the hurricane.
The alien neighbor of white fires.
After the rains
the slush will overwhelm the abducted
silence.
The celestial peace will
be shattered. Something will remain
unexplained, between the kisses of doors.
Go soflty into the dark
I know myself.
From your eyes the stained thoughts
will read the winter of leaves laden
with crisp snowflakes.
poem by Satish Verma
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Ninth Symphony
A scented moon caves in
on a tree top
and solitude withers up in a seminal cloud,
It is good to be friendless sometimes.
Me and homecoming become synonymous.
We are ruined by familiar paths.
The mist deepens.
Not reaching anywhere.
I come out in dark to find the stars.
What will you do if the soul sneaks out of a body?
The wind starts a dirty dance.
A tall cedar scowls.
It starts raining,
fabulous as tears on an immaculate face.
Pull up the veil.
It separates the truth.
Do not filter the pain.
We may find a god.
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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