We Will Scream Together
Managing his guilts to seduce the nocturnes
he left the gray area, surging
with a wandering death on the
half broken stairs –
before a closed gate was put on the pages,
he was trembling like toothed quaking aspen.
The grief of the scarred face,
in a serious midnight syndrome of
invisible slit throat in a long journey manifested
above the waves. Tree was calling again
for immoralism of flowers, quashing
his life.
The brave violence survives the mutilated
dreams.For once the mirror has won
again the onslaught of fingers.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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On The Edge
I recognized the vitriol.
There was blood on your hands.
The invisible was burning in dark.
This was the black moon
and this was the alienation.
An animal climbs on your shoulders.
It goes on and on.
Was it the night to undress
and show your wounds to dreams?
The lake has left the shores -
and flesh eats grass
in absence of cold truth.
I meet the moans of quaking
stars.petals know the music
of death in fragrance.
poem by Satish Verma
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Dragging
The Asperger syndrome: you will not speak,
you will not tell me about
fertilizer bomb. In a farmhouse blackwater
becomes a death chamber.
A toddler falls in a borewell,
you can still measure hypothermia,
the tilting of meteor saves the landfall,
stalking through the extended body.
What was the right thing in a chorus of protests
to underline the resilience of beaks and claws?
It bugs the space and diameters of arguments
about the sweep of corruption in integrities.
It is very difficult to stay being whole amidst
the broken shards of bones. The dreams were
set in stones and water was rising.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Life And Time
if life is a book, then time is pen--writing pages of life journey;
if life is a piece of white paper, then time is color--painting more colorful life journey;
if life is a long river, then time is surging waves--pushing forward of life journey;
if life is a tree, then time is pieces of green leaves--enriching life journey;
if life is a door, then time is just the key--opening new start of life journey;
if life is a cup of coffee, then time is a bag of condiments--flavoring into life journey;
if life is a scene of tv play, then time is nameless leading role in it--performing its own speical and unique life journey;
if life is a oil painting, then time is its palette--rendering life journey;
if life is a fast horse, then time is its running greenland--carrying load of life journey;
if life is a greenland, then time is spring rain--moisturing nutrition of life journey
...........
this is ur own life, a life which only belong to ur own, ur sepcial and unique one.......
poem by Flying Heart
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Slit the wrist and let it flow.
Hate and pain, feelin’ it in my veins.
Hate and pain etched in my mind.
Love and hate are all the same,
Life and death are all our problems, but you treat them as there mine.
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Life and death are all the same in my mind.
Life and death are all the same,
Play with fire and get burned.
Accusations flying my way, will they ever stop?
Slit the wrist and let it flow.
Slit the wrist and let it flow.
Life and death are all the same.
Life and death, when will it end?
Anger and frustration all boiling to the top.
Vengeance and Violence seems to be the only way.
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Life and death, it’s all the same.
Life and death, is it my turn yet?
Death is living again.
Death is bliss I will never discover.
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Life and death, it’s all the same.
Life and death, a new fire is born.
Death is an eternal fire being blown out.
Death is being free from the shackles of life.
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Life and death, it’s all the same.
Life and death, it’s our destiny.
Death is the only escape.
Death is the forth stomach of a cow.
By Ariel Morris.
poem by Ariel Morris
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Strange Relationship
Death has been my partner,
my best friend.
Every day the fear,
greets me in my bed,
and body starts dying.
I join the play.
The sun clips the clouds,
my lungs fills with aroma.
A golden bird starts singing
on the swaying leaves of palm.
Death smears me with ideas,
larger than pain
before and after it was foggy.
I sleep, half-opened eyes,
watching over with face
to the window.
Life moves from grief to grief.
A tiny seed pulsates
in the crevice of mind,
I love a view like that.
One hundred moons
and a dying sun.
An immence contrast.
Whom shall I choose as a prologue?
I cannot tread the center
of unborn story. The clouds
are always crimson before
the night. Life has
a shadow of death – and a strange
relationship survives.
poem by Satish Verma
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A Monument
Wanting to feel your breath
in this room, in half-light, my hands
opened the window to let him in,
the green moon.
For so much violence in everyday life.
let’s break a poem and sqeeze its honey
and carve only feet, of invisible fear.
When I had run after a dream
the frills of your gown caught fire;
at the door a music stopped
to listen to rustling of a caged bird
longing for the green flight of a silent
morning joining a procession of a recent
mythical hurt.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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For The Clotting
seething yet silent in land of outrage:
strictures of life,
my eyes will not see the setting sun;
this was the blind spot
before the battle starts
and spine turns into ramrod in hot sun –
to speak the version of domestic grief
without lips because the death does not come alone,
she has a company
of corpses swelling the earth but she also
plays piano with two fingers only
pouring out milk and venom
for a long journey, we start unprepared
I will not fall asleep
poem by Satish Verma
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Decks Are Cleared
You are dying inside me,
my little god.
I am awakening after a long pause.
The forked hazel wand
does not bend back, perched on a buried treasure.
I am disembarking from divining.
I stayed without body, nervous;
like aspen leaves trembling at slight doubt,
hearing footfalls of dew drop.
Fear of old fear arrives again,
when the seeds begin to explode
in the womb of a fallen tree.
For the spoken word, sting in the tail
becomes star-struck. Death zone enlarges on black
pyramid. Conscience is on its descent.
poem by Satish Verma
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Of The Next Zen
When moon was found on water
sky came down with unclenched fist,
too proud to accept the defeat.
Footprints of a giant will not leave
the broken landscape, of the virgin garden
where roses died in a row in storm.
There were no absolutes in good and bad
I have started talking to trees to shed
their blooms, winter was coming in blue eyes.
My ship was able to dodge the icebergs
wringing the waves from your face;
lake heaved a sigh of relief in glided death.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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The Lady Or The Tramp - a warm up poem
The river or the island
The island or the Camelot
The Shalott or Sir Lancelot
A magic web or a broken heart
A real life lived or a lonely art
Four towers or the fragrant flowers
The Shalott or The Camelot
The mirror or Sir Lancelot
A water lily or an aspen tree
Be imprisoned or just set free
Art to create or life to be
The Shalott or Sir Lancelot
The mirror or The Camelot
The silent coffin or the singing boat
The noise of heaven or silence remote
Live love and die or weave the sky
The Shalott or The Camelot
The mirror or Sir Lancelot
The glassy road or a towered space
To live by shadows or see their face
To take a breath or live in death
The Shalott or Sir Lancelot
The mirror or The Camelot
To weave or breathe or die of thirst
To break the spell or just stay cursed
Chose well or chose what's first
The Shalott or The Camelot
The mirror or Sir Lancelot
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Silver Trails
By the moon
I drink you again.
The night is trembling;
ruffles the colossal tears.
The terrible ache of the
illegitimate mercy. I am
not accepting any poem
half-dead under my pen.
The invisible force, bribing
the tears was a grace
uncalled for. I am going to forget
the date of my cessation.
It was a false peace of the womb.
There was no banality
in sending the message.
Death has no other name.
poem by Satish Verma
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LIKE A Da VINCI
Come, become my mirror to read the backward. Script
wards have failed me.
The sea is turbulent
and I am laying flowers at your feet.
What was is your eyes
unfathomable like a da Vinci?
Hold my trembling hands
I am going to dropp the gems.
Nobody will agree with me
there was a face on the wall.
Bare as the night moon of October
I have undone my beliefs.
A loincloth was sufficient to hide the birth.
Ceremony has begun to knead the lies.
Use your death as the furnace of life
where knives are sharpened to start the healing.
A stranger has come as the guest of the house
answers should not insult any question.
poem by Satish Verma
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Human Lab
Half-buried in a mud pit,
a polluter bares all, body and soul.
Hands bound, ready to be stoned
to death.
A god was going to kill a god.
A dense judgement of planet green
of an unreliable sun
scribbling a code of conduct.
My god, I will go insane.
Save my woods I say. How can
be the adam was so naked running
in a race gene altered?
My arthritic fingers again lift
a mansion of gold leaves, dissolving
the sky.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Glitches
It was more than
I could take.
The phallic paranoia.
Can I come out of
your body and kneel
before death?
Less than dark
I dream of the nipples
spurting out venom.
A pumice raft
of the crowd, sailing
on the waves of narcissism.
Invisible sharks
on high seas
open the lambs for salt.
Can you eat your
words please?
There is nothing left on the plate.
poem by Satish Verma
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Puzzling
You toppled the invisible
burning the unburied buttons
joining the history of names.
Will I be able to communicate
with straw to find out the age
of the unarrived seeds?
There is too much violence in
green blood. The broken tooth
bled to death of a truth. The
oratory was becoming a weapon
to break your mirrors. Will there
ever be peace to flying guests?
A service should be rendered
to the poem who burned like a
candlelight in the stormy night.
poem by Satish Verma
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Looking Back
half-clad
cult of violence
boiling their
soulmates
roasting
the foes
one by one
killed
by a ligature
they were building the dams
to harvest the power
from tears
fear
climbs on your shoulders
unburns hydrocarbons
a train moves through the black cloud
night
lies naked
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Stone Catchers
The vertical thought had
jumped on the moon
without any qualms.
Do you think, the dreams
will sell to man
these butterflies.
The ants were waiting
for the death of the lamb
wandering in the neighbour’s field.
O God, how long we will
drink this potion
of the stone catchers?
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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Puzzles
hopscotch, retrieve a pebble
from the lake,
sitting under a tall tree
i will wait
for leaves to fall
on water;
i will see through my seeds
a relief of roses,
overnight
in the soccer field
tiny mushrooms
popped up, wearing white caps
to see the game –
turning the pages of a book
opens a museum,
i come on you
not accusative
SATISH VERMA
poem by Satish Verma
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Shivering
my hands are trembling
on your story
of a plot that vibrates
with fear
like the leaves of an aspen
one autumn breeze
like i were a child
quaking always
asking for more
like the quivering
poplar tree
my shaking knees
on shaky feet
i changed perspective
about this
shivering
i must see
the sparkling lights
from some shivering
crystals
of the chandeliers
of this
old house
where this family
of mine
still thrive
wanting to get
rid of
trembling hands
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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