Splitting
Touched by moon, I pick up
a black rose,
to return the debt.
Very high
the fire, returns in my eyes.
I start burning in your arms.
The parting,
crawls in the bed
I cannot speak nor cry.
Why it had to happen
after sunset,
when the leafless tree was waiting?
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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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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Jottings
there was a tree rose
piercing me and killing me, I thought
it was cheating on me after the sunset
when moon was walking alone
you know what is love
we think different things at the same time
but we are always alone, you do not think,
I think about my god, saying a prayer
to unknow him or keep him alive
he has a debt to pay me back because
I created him what cosmologist would
say was an accident
somebody comes with a strange version
I say, a transgender was also entitled
for his or hers right to love, may be
marrying a deity one day and have free sex
what were you saying about the bait, now
a hapless buffalo will be tied with a rope
put up on a rough terrain to invite the
lion to pounce and make a kill for the benefit of visitors
I am perplexed, do not want to talk,
will watch the moon again, sailing
silently across the blue starry sky
throwing the shadow of dew on my eyes.
poem by Satish Verma
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Fly-trap
You are not me.
It was not gentle,
it was not sweet.
It was fire in the glass.
One yellow rose was opening up
in a very bright night.
I was shivering
under the leafless shade of hawthorn.
One surrogate mother
picks up the wormholes.
One tendril oscillates
to entwine the lover.
Stealthily, the sad moon slides
into the big bosom of clouds.
My eyes now search,
the bared, Venus fly-trap.
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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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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Toxic Memory
They were teaching how to butcher
the lamb
and suspend the bines with
drooping hops.
I climbed out of my ashes towards
a marinated moon turned blue in consternation.
Warts and all, here we were ready
to pick up the lost threads to start
a conversation about the hurricane making
landfall, in near future.
After the fall, graffiti appeared on
the clouds, spurting sperms
on the stars.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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From A Dot
One final leap
from high solitude
into city of dusk,
takes you to presence
of charred remains
of a fallen god.
A housewife moves in the kitchen
to prepare a farewell dinner
for the encounter of fatal descent.
A paranormal parting
to comeback to body of truth,
as you pick up your words.
Space odyssey in eyes,
palms folding,
to receive the punishment.
No complaints, no grieving
conclusion of foregone stopping.
A line will start from a dot.
poem by Satish Verma
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It Comes
Waiting under the opaque moon
a primeval instinct takes over you
and you start arriving.
A black bone
renders the ash on your forehead
and you complete the circle –
reaching childhood; you start
climbing the ladder,
for instantaneous release.
The insects don’t forget the trail;
you were bleeding from inside.
You were never alone in a crowd.
poem by Satish Verma
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Naïve Innocence
O pink horse, O timeless sun,
run on my body, run. Black magic
had pierced the needles into my heart.
Lying on nails to wrest a superearth
from amnesty, I start bandaging the bruised
ethos of my native conscience –
on the spike of a violence, refusing
to give up my home to fire, tending
the voiceless flora of a virgin rock.
The questions stand up, against
the black walls of silence. The blue birds
are going to fly in white desert.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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The Democracy
With stoicism writ on face
I invite the chisels
for giving birth to a dialogue
between me and the shaper.
Where did the things go wrong
in making the life a simple page
to write a beautiful poem?
Buddha give me a bo-tree or an interlocutor
who invents skin, teeth and eyes
of a failing system. The command
has gone to unknown robots. They were
manipulating the atrophied
limbs of high-tech generation
who do not know the pathless love
when we walk into the moon,
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Farewell
They will not allow the assisted suicide.
The beetles; fiery and drunk.
After the betrayal of arithmetic,
the spiral staircase.
Fireflies set foot on the skies
to measure the darkness.
The fire between us, of burning fat,
of thousand years, terrifies me.
Moon bleeds on grass, I prick the
voice of the hugging earth.
The salt of the lips now hurts
it was your parting kiss, O sun!
poem by Satish Verma
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My Battle
After self-immolation,
what has been left with me
except the poems.
The tree will not speak now.
There was a good run-off
from the surface of golden leaves.
I will not meet the music
of sunset. There was a constant
flow of murmuring thoughts at night.
The narrative remembers the -
departure, but does not expect
anything from moon.
I will remain awake till
the dawn, then go
to a long sleep.
poem by Satish Verma
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A Sickened Craft
Waiting for a chaste bread, whole
life under the moon,
to speak off the inconsistency of
happiness,
with a monologue
of a needle in eyes
for a madness of sublime verse.
Canoeing in a frozen lake
for a stranded rose,
you stop at a bosky bank.
A weeping willow greets
the lost son.
A school bag measures the knowledge
of surrounding hills, who had
plucked out the stars
from the sky.
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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Rose from my Love
Rose from my love,
My love the black dragon,
With teeth like daggers,
Claws of steel,
Scales of darkness,
And a soul of fire.
Do not raid the village,
Do not steal the maiden,
Just guard the rose,
My rose,
The rose of the dark moon.
Under the cloudy sky,
Surrounded by trees dead and charred,
Looking out at the frozen lake,
Remember me,
And wait for my return.
My sweet dragon,
Dragon of my dreams,
Your soul is dark like me,
Even when that fire goes out,
The rose will remain,
As a memory of our love,
But was that love in vain?
No, not in vain will I die,
I will die in the arms of my love,
My love Mokar,
Protector of my rose,
The rose of the dark moon,
The moon I was born under.
poem by Nicolette Gonzalez
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Scenic Beauty
What do you think
a redemption of a clone will work
in the galaxy of stars?
The hope was drying and violence
refuses to decline in the valley of flowers.
Orphaned moon climbs up the hill
to preside over the murmuring truths.
Nothing seems to work
for the liberation of long night
and the winds put off the lantern’s light
which was standing on the shore.
A black widow crawls on my chest
for a certain drenching by a sucked heart.
Still I stare at the black eyes
for a washed up death.
poem by Satish Verma
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What Asylum!
Come and meet me in chamber of death
where the tempest comes every night.
I start disrobing the anger
to find the eye of the moon.
Where do I get that ink that
writes an unwritten poem on water
of eyes when the ship was
burning after a rare landing.
Come and meet me in sleep of an infant.
It was time to start a dialogue
with golden death sitting on the
greed of man. The lips were extracting
the other honey from frozen moon.
Come and meet me in merciless sun.
poem by Satish Verma
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Spanish Harlem
There is a rose in spanish harlem
A rose that grows in spanish harlem
Its never seen the sun
It only comes up when the moon is on the run
And all the stars are leaving
Well, it grows right in the street
Up between the concrete
But soft and sweet, and (breathing? ? )
There is a rose in spanish harlem
A rose that grows in spanish harlem
Oh, with eyes as black as coal
That reach down in my soul
And start a fire I cant control
I beg your pardon
Well, I want to pick that rose
And watch her as she grows
In my garden
There is a rose in spanish harlem
There is a rose in spanish harlem
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Denuding
Wearing a skin
where flesh had melted
in blankness.
The moon was sitting
on window
parting the curtains
The sunset
accepts the death
as final verdict
Small scholars
will find out the pain
of molesting.
Estrogen untamed
on street
rises in arches.
poem by Satish Verma
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