Striking Portrait
A silvery,
fluting cry of a sleepless moon
on the pillow of a twilight sleep:
an enigma I wanted to share
with a skylark.
From the disbelief rises a sulphur
cloud to thaw the ice on the tongue of a dawn.
First ray of sunlight starts flirting,
with a dew dropp on a wet rose.
It was not a poem but a thought
crossing a bridge into eternity,
for a sparkle in the pain of life,
a hymn to be recited without understanding
the meaning.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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After The Storm
Unfettered for a little while, I was
catching the sleep visitor. It hurts
when the dream ends and a poem starts.
An eucalyptus, drinking lots of water, throwing the aroma
incensing the air, I pick up the fallen seeds of light
in winter solstice, befriending the home traumas.
Fireflies leave the scorched marks of daydreaming.
I talk to moon for sometime and leave my address
with him. Tomorrow he will come to inherit the
pain. I wanted a sunless garden to commit
the sin of forgetting you. The night will find
me undying till eternity.
In my words I carry the charred remains
of time which smells the hunger of tomorrow.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Tableau
Again I scare myself
of the very thing.
Moon was landing on lake
for inward probe.
One presaged silence,
speaks, of the veracity of lovers
to grass, where no dropp drives a sun,
the red bricks build a shade.
Ragweed in a daisy field:
Ambrosia, I will not taste you
till the rainbow sits
in the meadow.
Round eyes
keep the dawn hidden /
under the lashes, sleep my saint
for a while, door was waiting for a knock.
SATISH VERMA
poem by Satish Verma
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Frivolous
Motionless within the ambit
of moon,
the rain squirms and flickers
under the street light
in the vacuous silence
of a monolith.
A cricket walks on a cloud
and starts the lightning.
The urn was blind, fills up with grief.
The goddess climbs out of rainbow
and accepts the message
of fireworks.
After the pain, there was
frigidity. The lips will not move under
the mortgage of unvenerable words.
An innocent deal was brokered
with stings about the truth
of the wasp.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Metaphors of a Magnifico
Twenty men crossing a bridge,
Into a village,
Are twenty men crossing twenty bridges,
Into twenty villages,
Or one man
Crossing a single bridge into a village.
This is old song
That will not declare itself . . .
Twenty men crossing a bridge,
Into a village,
Are
Twenty men crossing a bridge
Into a village.
That will not declare itself
Yet is certain as meaning . . .
The boots of the men clump
On the boards of the bridge.
The first white wall of the village
Rises through fruit-trees.
Of what was it I was thinking?
So the meaning escapes.
The first white wall of the village...
The fruit-trees...
poem by Wallace Stevens
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Different Shades
Do you envision a creeping fear
climbing the minaret
to reach the moon?
A debate has started
between believers and non-believers.
Why not he who lives
in eternal emptiness climbs down
and settles the dispute of hymns
in the scortching heat of words.
I just want you to read
the script and don’t say, a sky
has wept
dropp by dropp on the nakedness
of human beings
who could not cover their shadows.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Dark Language
Wanted to wear the grief uncrying,
sitting on the bank, counting the waves,
watching the swaying of earthen lamps.
There was a little water on the moon,
charged atoms settling in the lap of a sponge.
The water becomes the moon,
floating on goat’s milk.
My descent starts to find the truth.
Where the water has gone from the eyes?
The mirrors always tell the lie.
The headless body writhes in the dust,
words change the author of a murder.
A crowd finds a knife only.
Once again a century weeps!
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Unsung Hands
How can you unsee an etched wound?
The name will tell the moon.
An empty sky now calls for
the rains.
What was it-
the ceremonial farewell?
A dependable pain now starts
pulling out the sharpnels from the body.
You may call it
meaningless. My poem now
moves between the stings. Somebody
was going for a merciless kill.
poem by Satish Verma
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Now You Know
You are not with yourself today.
Conversation was stopped, from cloud to cloud.
Now you know what you did not want to know.
No longer the pathless destiny,
comes near you, you go towards the
bushes to collect the ash, the burnt out
remains of a theme, a design, a horizon.
In memory of books, which are not read
by anyone now. Pages lay wounded. Black
stones trying to hear the sounds of dawn.
The tremors were increasing in the swampland.
The wolves were in howling rage. A daring
gift of death, tormenting the spirit, human
flesh, you watch through the twilight,
through the terror of betrayal. Each tear drop
sacrifices the eternity.
poem by Satish Verma
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One Simple Day
For honour killing
twilight adulates an abstract faith.
Tainted?
Now that mouth was shut
and butterfly was pinned,
will you grow the marigolds?
The empty book was not breathing
in a crowd of words.
The bitter meaning had flown away.
The mountain will cry now
in the absence of birds.
Trees were shedding their leaves.
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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Democracy
To slice a hope in stark terror
he thought to bid holy goodbye
to destiny, and let himself go
in the shadow of weeping deads.
The orange moon looked mutilated.
Quietly stood a suicide bomber,
ready to get killed for a home in white heaven
and destroying the leaping stars.
Who had the blood on the hands?
Hiding in the white gown,
crossing the shelter, to dropp the guilt
on the road, never to look back.
Century of oppression, like baked blood
shines on the coffins of martyrs.
At dawn the pariahs promise to lead
the band towards democracy.
poem by Satish Verma
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Cuddling
between unequals
to and fro
beastly joy of horror
you want to press the trigger,
timebomb, your laughter,
and sneaky mind
restless syndrome of legs
you cannot stand on tiptoes
to review the fall
from the clouds
the moon overshot
the endless night
sun rises gently
on the window
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Mutation
Like black birds
homing in twilight, to the tree
my thoughts make a perfect landing.
I lift the silence in sleep.
A flying snake enters
a pink room.
A bullet pierces the heart.
No acolytes, I will
catch myself the drifting smell
of eternal caress. Basking
in pain I pluck up my
trail in rubble of dreams.
You defy the likeness to god
become poor like an undershirt.
and walk straight.
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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When There's A Meaning To A Pain
When there's a meaning to a pain,
It can make a better life.
It will enrich with understanding coming,
To pay attention to a need.
When there's a meaning to a pain,
Bitter lips shut tight.
And if it is mental and not physical...
Correct and get it right.
When there's a meaning to a pain,
There is something to be learned.
Either cross that bridge and forgive,
Or let the 'thing' burn.
When there's a meaning to a pain,
You can not let it ride.
Or let it burn you deep inside.
Correct,
And get it right.
When there's a meaning to a pain,
Bitter lips shut tight.
And if it is mental and not physical...
Correct,
And get it right.
When there's a meaning to a pain,
It can make a better life.
It will enrich with understanding coming,
To pay attention to a need.
When there's a meaning to a pain,
Someone is giving it a need.
And...
Allowing it to offer,
More attention to feed.
And,
More of attention than it needs!
When there's a meaning to a pain...
Refrain from giving it a name.
When there's a meaning to a pain...
Correct,
And get it right.
Don't let it burn inside.
When there's a meaning to a pain...
Refrain from giving it a name.
When there's a meaning to a pain...
Correct,
And get it right.
Don't let it burn inside.
When there's a meaning to a pain.
Refrain from giving it a name.
When there's a meaning to a pain.
Refrain from giving it a name.
When there's a meaning to a pain!
When there's a meaning to a pain,
Correct and get it right!
Either...
Cross that bridge and forgive,
Or let the 'thing' burn.
When there's a meaning to a pain,
That hits.
Feel it and let it go.
Be quick,
Rid it.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Coupling
In the tiny truths behind the hidden
words and blood streaked cheeks, you
drink ozone in deep layers. I will count
all my sins and light the candles in a row.
On the pillow of moon, night slept in half-slumber.
I tendered an apology
and wrote a new poem. It was not a rebuke
of stars.
This was my ad lib before the sun rise
and roses opening the blood conversations
with the grand stings. The wrapped hunger
starts wailing.
poem by Satish Verma
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Shapeshifter Poems
1
the legend is whispered
in the women's tent
how the moon when she rises
full
follows some men into themselves
and changes them there
the season is short
but dreadful shapeshifters
they wear strange hands
they walk through the houses
at night their daughters
do not know them
2
who is there to protect her
from the hands of the father
not the windows which see and
say nothing not the moon
that awful eye not the woman
she will become with her
scarred tongue who who who the owl
laments into the evening who
will protect her this prettylittlegirl
3
if the little girl lies
still enough
shut enough
hard enough
shapeshifter may not
walk tonight
the full moon may not
find him here
the hair on him
bristling
rising
up
4
the poem at the end of the world
is the poem the little girl breathes
into her pillow the one
she cannot tell the one
there is no one to hear this poem
is a political poem is a war poem is a
universal poem but is not about
these things this poem
is about one human heart this poem
is the poem at the end of the world
poem by Lucille Clifton
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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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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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Voyage
Clouds had refused to part.
A fractured moon was walking in dismay
stroking the gazing stars.
Cornwhite belonging of ashes was
to fire, beloved sky was enchanted
with water ceremony
as a sign of gratitude to earth.
The wind decided to reverse the clock
and navigate in trees of waxing summer
blowing yellow crystals of sulphur.
A red admiral lands on a lone marigold
with detachment, surveys pollen, pie-eyed,
dangles, tilting a nod, emerges for another sortie.
If there was an action, I think in between:
live with it in fire of mind. The voyage
begins when the song of eternity starts.
poem by Satish Verma
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