Star Struck
i, thirst for nudging
the butter lamp to peep inside
the dark of a Shiva crater
of human suffering,
between your pain and my blood
there was ancient history,
where will you go now, no
light has touched you so far
the moon takes a bath inside
a sleeping volcano of perfect
aches, staring in the sad eyes
of a fauna
brace your window and taste
your memory, lift the quivering hands
to welcome the blank pages
of future
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
Underscoring
A distraught moon
takes a misstep
and goes behind the hill
to take a holy bath.
Disconnects
with a trespasser
and sends to night,
a bouquet of stars with muffled prayers.
Shades of lies haunt, in flames
of faith. A suicide bomber ploughs
through a playground, throwing the bits
of human pieces on nets.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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It Was Enough
Yawning of dawn.
I scribble a note for night
to come again.
And I try to write a triolet
in memory of moon;
who forgot to say goodbye.
A pigeon flutters in my chest
for a beautiful bride,
who was fond of pecans.
I have not much to show
except my trembling hands
which could not light the -
lamp in dark for once, to
read the face of eternity.
poem by Satish Verma
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Empty Day
take back your smile,
the fish has died in my hands;
nowhere you have touched me
deep in the brutal corona of a black moon -
my sun spots were waning:
a hole in the wind, chased
adulthood of man for a frozen
infantile mutancy
something stopped you
to discover yourself in the rage:
what was it? I am refusing to believe
something between the unbuttoned
golden flesh of a mummy,
the old version dies hard, fear escapes
from amygdalae,
in mourning, comes the rainbow
of pain, the rain lashing on window
i am melting inside a cast
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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Who Was Faithful?
That yellow moon haunts me again
and overleaps my sleep.
I do not dare to walk in the graves
of your eyes. The palace
has broken.
Mere suffering was not sufficient.
You have to wince with pain
for a crucified secret,
dying for a graced truth.
Snatch me a tear from
the blind eyes.My precious rags
will make a sacred thread to wrap
you on your arm.
The bruised innocence does not matter
now.You walk like a prince in every dark
page of history. Light follows the
sounds of body.
poem by Satish Verma
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Ironical
Sky drank the moon
when night was cool.
A lone tree on roadside
waits for the prowling wolf
to steal the electric skin
like the veins on the breast.
River was flowing
nudging, cleaving the rising frenzy.
Still the thirst does not sink
like the torpedoed sub.
A dropp contains million faces of a moon.
A moon does not have a drop.
poem by Satish Verma
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The Healer
An all pin pricks again
draws blood from empty hands
blank papers fly.
Trying to learn Braille
to write a canto
for unseeing Budha.
Unbroken tinnitus violates peace.
night is also blanking the vowels
Pain has become wordless.
Light can only be assumed
fleeing from the moon.
only breeze gives the hint.
The burning grass scrolls back:
there is no healer
in the bush.
poem by Satish Verma
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Blank Pages
Blank pages
Blank books
Lie with only drowning white
No pretty messages in the sand
No clocks to turn a hand
Blank pages
Blank books
Looking into an empty void
Like staring at purgatory
Words with no meaning making up a story
Blank pages
Blank books
Stay staring at the celing
Empty without effort
Nothing without words
poem by Autumn Winds
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Exiled
I threw myself in deep slumber
pledging not to play the game
for others and exiled myself within me
after the rebellion.
A realized being, suffers
at the hand of a thorn skull,
learns to be silent, choking on words
across the pages which are blank.
Immeasurable limits of space and senses
start a hierarchy which will breed contempt.
There was a memory, a suffering of absurdism
I am still caged in.
The kingdom collapses in brilliance of sun,
the man starts another version of hate.
Acquires the blood of royal vein
and promises to become a beautiful cadaver.
poem by Satish Verma
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Falling Bricks
From the blank book can I
lift some questions for the lofty hopes
when I lost myself near the home?
The fear was darting inside the white sores.
Keys were lost for the answers
and truth fell castrated.
The magic was fading from the cusps
of designs, unconceived thoughts were
seeking proportionate punishments.
Congeniality drifted from the
architect of hominid species. A nameless
storm plays havoc. Humble peaks bow
before the unmeasured meteors. You
can shut the orphanage now; no
bombs are bound for the wet crypts.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Eternity
Pearl – drops
on your upper lip:
heat –
of a stand-off
between
inside and outside.
More spiritual
I become
forgetting
the black eye,
I want to go back
with empty hands.
My home
is far away,
doorless,
roofless,
where dark squints at the moon.
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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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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It Takes a Test of Patience
It takes more than just eyes,
One must keep on a prize.
It takes a test of patience,
With a taste for discipline.
And a backbone stretched...
Until a suffering pain that begins,
Ends as a focus to provoke discouragement.
It takes a determination,
With self motivation one does not hide.
It takes a pride in what one does.
And energized by an identity,
One knows resides inside...
Undenied!
It takes more than just eyes,
One must keep on a prize.
It takes a test of patience,
With a taste for discipline.
And a backbone stretched...
Until a suffering pain that begins,
Ends as a focus to provoke discouragement.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Tremulous Light
In my sky your blackbird
a lamp without a light
making a nest of moon
where the fireflies will meet.
A mirror breaks my dream
I paint my graveyard with blood
of a rose which felled a tattoo
from the morning dew.
They make love under a -
cloud in shimmering dark
of vanishing youth; One day someone
will claim the fallen vial.
poem by Satish Verma
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Bring Me To Life
How can you see into my eyes,
Like open doors ?
Leading you down into my core,
Where I've become so numb.
Without a soul. My spirit's sleeping somewhere cold,
Until you find it there and lead it back home.
Wake me up inside,
Wake me up inside,
Call my name and save me from the dark.
Bid my blood to run,
Before I come undone,
Save me from the nothing I've become.
Now that I know what I'm without,
You can't just leave me.
Breathe into me and make me real,
Bring me to life.
Wake me up inside,
Wake me up inside,
Call my name and save me from the dark.
Bid my blood to run,
Before I come undone,
Save me from the nothing I've become.
Bring me to life,
Bring me to life.
Frozen inside without your touch,
Without your love, darling,
[Only you] Only you are the life among the dead.
I've been sleeping a thousand years it seems,
Got to open my eyes to everything.
[Don't let me die here]
Bring me to life.
Wake me up inside,
Wake me up inside,
Call my name and save me from the dark.
Bid my blood to run,
Before I come undone,
Save me from the nothing I've become.
Bring me to life,
[Bring me to life],
Bring me to life.
song performed by by Evanescence
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lost Meanings
In mangled bodies
and severed limbs,
the blood gives up its claim.
A twisted window blocks the landscape
of silvered faces.
No body talks with moon.
Night burns the fat
floats on the dead mouthings.
Death has the foulest taste.
Darkness looms overnight,
very false under the lamp,
eyelids are closing.
Dirty maps unfold the mystery
of religion. The longest book
has the restless words.
poem by Satish Verma
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Try this to kill Your Pain (any pain including cancer)
The moon glows
in bright yellow
The moon takes in all my pain
to glow in bright yellow
The more the pain
the greater the strength of its glows
The moon comes a-calling
first peeping
through the window
then takes leave
from the sky
roll from the tree,
and over the window
to the table and to my bed circling softly round
comforting my head
taking in all my aches
encasing them all in her
round body
The more it take my torments
The brighter it becomes
till my pain is now
a bright great mersmerising moon, rolling, rowing
over my whole physique
a mom taking all care, bearing all sins
to make sure her child is in full ease
the moon, with each
throb of my pain
it increases in its brighteness
the moon with each
throb of my pain
it increases in brightness
giving my life
a new lease of hope
taking away all my aches
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Remembering
You shall read me
when I am gone
in green pain.
There had been gifts
unhanded.
Unwrap them in dark –
when moon was
yellow.
The beams will rub your body.
A bared stasis
will stop the fluids.
Wash your face with tears.
It seems a long time
when I touched your eyes.
My clouds would not find you.
poem by Satish Verma
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Looking Upon A Child
looking upon a child i compress my years
like how i keep the lines confined inside my palms.
i stop for while following where the child goes.
his hands are buds, his feet as small as a saki cup.
his eyes as innocent as an oil lamp waking on a dark night.
his hair are soft and silky like a kitten fur
his sounds like the arrival of morning on the grass.
i hold his tiny hands and i am back to my senses.
he calls my name, but i am no longer there.
i am back to my room. It is as crowded as a storehouse
with papers and books and chairs and used clothes hanging
on the beams and walls. Some old figurines bathed with dusts.
Some dried spittle on the floor. Some unopened off-white pages
filled with age.
i wonder, despite this crowd of things and thoughts,
despite the fullness of the wind from the window
there is still the wide vacancy of space. Inside the heart longs.
Inside the sound howls. Inside something so faint shouts.
It is the sound of the child still calling my name.
It is looking for me and i am never complete.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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