Vibrations
The battlelines were drawn.
While drinking the sun
I set myself ablaze
A hooded dilemma
of his kindness
starts boiling in chaotic dissonance.
A backlash stops a self-search.
Who am I and why do I belong
in the spinning of descent.
There were flames in every home
and biting dust of the moon.
Where the man will go.
The birth’s print and death’s answer
had the bidding game.
I was standing in the middle.
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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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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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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Body Script
Does it stir you,
a body bag?
Journey of million years
stops here,
decoding the numbers.
A humming bird
inflight catches a dilemma
before the sun sets on the
whirring wings.
The moon will never be the same.
Hanging by a thread
a suicide bomber memorializes
the unhealing land.
Who will cry
when he is gone?
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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Outrageous
Everybody was half-naked on the trail
of curves. Braindead. Emptied thought.
A single vacant look.
“Why me? ” I ask. Stay stupid in the crowd. Looking
at the moon, indulgent. Plucking the nector from
knobs of naked flames.
No coming back from days of unknowing
the secrets of unskopen words. A cry stifles
in the throat of a prayer.
A moon was found on a dump!
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Exporting
That kind of kiss and runoff.
Why don’t you concede to the fraud?
It was a haunted dilemma,
kidnapping of a verdict.
Dinosaurs were wiped out
by a clean sweep of a meteorite
long back, millions of years. Now,
present ones, tiny reptiles
still survivng in water, air and
earth by active faults.
The great Indian Bustard was again
sighted in a poor man’s field.
Are you a moon friendly?
I am dispossessing all my domestic clouds.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Night Light
That cameo was my secret grief.
He will make you sing,
the hooded moon.
Not a sacred thing
Kissing the toes of a traveller
for fecundity.
In doorway it was between
us and them for bargaining
for Dahlias.
Lips unkissed will call for
honey from bees.
Eyes will srarch for a candle.
In alien land of flames
and tumultuous desires,
the golden breasts will take revenge.
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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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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Unstitching
Do not take a vow of silence.
Death will find its home.
The circus has taken over
the needles.Who will stitch
the wounds of earth. A man
walks into sunset carrying
a bowl of tears. The sit-in
was going to resist a poem
of life. Would you unrobe
your identity in public one day?
Always I am punctuated at night
by a yellow moon standing
in my window. A nude goddess
is going to mourn the death of a thought.
poem by Satish Verma
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Immortality
A very disconnecting creek where bodies
were found, presents a pictorial death in night,
which must be challenged, I say. Then I think without
thoughts; summer was ending and a pandemic
was at the door. The art of debating the image
sears the mind. Must act, think later: the gold
coins have been thrown in the market, the
frozen lens behind the slit eyes watch the cargo
unloading: the explosions come in spate. What
was it – greed or fear? We are running blindly,
the brides, the boys, the men. Of modern governance
a metaphysical meditation.
The strings pulled behind the curtain, game
starts. Award is gifted. The name dies.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Another Name
When postponed, death had no meaning.
It was lying in ambush.
Journey was imperfect without
a termination.
Behind the dust was another desire.
Another thumb on the trigger
starts shooting through the bubble
of moon. Every bone springs
to jump for final galaxy
of hidden stars.
Striving was brutal. Being
was dying for life. Profits
of morality on sale. Fragrance
without house. A memory
now invites another name.
Daughter of next life
lives hundreds of years
in death. Becoming
becomes the fear!
poem by Satish Verma
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Listen ………………………..
When you were searching an answer in
questions,
the end started near the beginning.
And you were still walking alone in the
unbridled tempest.
Lesser the light, stronger was the urge
to move in darkness.
Dirty landscape generated the brilliant stars,
Legs atrophied, frozen looks, I was watching
a strange phenomenon.
The spirit was drinking its own fountain.
Here is my toast to the march of time
Kids are refusing to write on dotted
lines
already the death was tasting the dust.
poem by Satish Verma
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Cannot Hold
Got struck on the spiky gate
a half-eaten deer
shattering the panther.
Daggers were drawn.
Terrier was in the glass house.
Canine discretion to draw the blood
between friends.
A crisp murder of a terrorist.
spotted face of the relentless moon
sending flames to jasmines.
The little skulls popping up
amongst rumors.
I scream in a celestial leap.
I could walk in ruins
of incarnations
preaching for death.
poem by Satish Verma
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A Home In My Home
Messengers are out,
dynasty strikes.
A haze of dust storm filters down in tearless eyes.
Not caring, not grubbing my inward eye.
I am becoming blind.
A white moon starts bleeding
under the weight of wingless stars.
You never said,
I never heard the rich voice within
the rocks. A tale went to asylum.
we trembeled under the trees, listening to war drums.
Totems were incoherent. Temples were mute.
I am nude in my wounds,
cannot raise the hands, cannot hurt anybody.
A swallow has made a home in my home.
poem by Satish Verma
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A Kiss Melts
Turning me blue
blithe thoughts had come like snakes
wriggling, biting, leaving tooth marks.
I remained holding a dew drop
on the blade of grass.
Essence was untouched.
Night will change its dialect
after a casual death.
I contrive no more assemblage.
No condolence for the razed home.
The flames will leap again from words
to describe the inspiration, as the
sprouts break the earth.
When the logic ends
a kiss melts on the lips of fire.
The rainbow pierces the clouds
At the interface of sky.
poem by Satish Verma
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The Predicament
Joined by the funeral, we sit down,
under the blue sky, fire watching, sequentialling
the processions. Ultimately one by one they come,
to dust, hands turned down. After close of the rainbow
there is an explosion and a transition
censored by stone age. They flee from the shrapnels
to swathe in bioluminence of death. The penury
makes a fanciest atrocity.
A pockmarked moon stands there to listen
the scandalized whispers of crulest legends
in century’s hopelessness, guilt’s bleeding.
You never chained the voice of booms. A god
mourns in fading light.
SATISH VERMA
poem by Satish Verma
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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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Heavenly Guidance
A quivering mud lamp under the basil
was sending signals for benign inconsistencies
and a covert interceptor
to stop a death to himself.
It was a no moon day
to monopolize the open eyes
and closed lips. Piercing screams
were coming from the empty chairs.
A garland of currency bills or pink snakes
for the leader breaks the music
of averted eyes. A terror attack
starts frisking the souls.
It wakes up a slumbering century
of fossil books. The birth anniversary
of a smoked thesis starts. The masses
start descending like buzzing flies.
poem by Satish Verma
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