What Has To Stay
Like I want to erase the fear
before I light a remote fire
in the blue veins.
Actually this was the crisis of self pride
in manic depression
seeking the anonymity of toes
tracing the footpath.
Becoming a paper-boat
in the winds of flesh and fancies
on the choppy sea of death.
No spinal pain for candles
to burn in courtyard
of sunken faith.
Red grapes in a tiny bowl
leap to lips of sun
for sons and daughters. Ajmer, INDIA
SATISH VERMA
poem by Satish Verma
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Strange
All night November,
I was searching the vulnerable
lips after loosing you.
Now fingerless hands
were moving the sun-dial
away from light.
The shroud was heavy,
I would not breathe.
Give me a blue moon before dawn.
You cannot engage in
sudden withdrawl. I will
come back for a kiss.
The paper that leaves a wound,
I will not sign for the bread.
My hands had stopped trembling.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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The Tango
Lips tremble
like sentinels
when legs burn like candles
whole night,
in the pocket a grenade explodes;
a girl gets raped in broad day light
to receive a compensation
under a leaky roof of frozen hunger:
the emptiness in bed
stirs a grain, a deemed birth of catastrophe
one classical tragedy begins
a lighthouse shuts when the ship sinks,
let us go on the bank to find the needles –
to start a dialogue with the moon,
when the tide comes
it will throw some heroes
SATISH VERMA
poem by Satish Verma
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Repeating History
My nativity at peril
I wanted to stay away from myself
seeking anonymity in inwardness
Death had drawn a circle
my mode of survival depended on
the hopelessness of life
The ant-hills were growing!
The final assault will take place at night
at spiritual depths.
I will be seething with fake acoustics.
Kissing the blue lips of dawn
night bids adieu.
I will move quietly behind the corpse
A dark tribute to the mother of sorrow.
Flames on river, my body was burning
in blue waves
I was repeating history.
poem by Satish Verma
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Gifting
O viola,
go over the grapes
and find an ageless green.
It is difficult
to be born
again, undoing death.
You swoon
at the continuity
of crossroads –
with blue flags
in your bowl.
A rosette,
without a winner.
A birthday gift
for all the failures.
At seventy five
you walk over a prairie
to find a shade.
poem by Satish Verma
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Passage To Unknown
At cultural opening of thin
layers of faith & consciousness,
a new breed of angels was
romping on our souls.
I suffered again for tiny spaces
between the thoughts.
Death cannot be intrusive.
It waits at the door of light.
The show will start when truth dies.
I go again for the reality of anticlimax,
the anxiety of endless flights into fantasies,
the hallucinations of falling trees.
Give me some space to pedal
the silken smoke of dark truths.
There was fire in my heart
and eternal burning
of a lake. I cared for tears,
the eerie memories.
The age-old pain of seeking
the liberation from twisted symbols,
simple measures of
finding a passage to unknown.
poem by Satish Verma
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Ash Poem
I could not take it, the fear.
Transient flesh
vibrant in a sunken ship.
On a coral island
deconstruction of a fallen window.
Jumping on million skins.
The level of violence was rising.
Rebuttal will not convey
the truth, the reality.
A thin line of lips
skates on the ice of power.
In a palm grove
I was held by music of death.
My arms unwrapped
around the portrait of life.
White swellings on the knuckles
betray the gliding priest,
who denies the god.
poem by Satish Verma
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The Indomitable
Till last moment, life can produce a meaning.
Of sky, stars and space between darkness and light.
I am not going to weigh the burden
and insult the ‘how’ of impossible,
so much is still to finish.
I am not going to commit suicide.
Are there any takers of grass, of moon
and scented winds?
the borderline is very vague between
ecstasy and depression.
A bit of silence, a patch of sunlight
I drink my cup from the tranquil hands.
I am water, I am fire
The fear is not going to dissipate me.
poem by Satish Verma
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By The Words
Always he was picking up and counting the pins
to distill the essence of rainbows
and find the symmetries of elementary
laws and eating leftover words from the table.
The terrorists had wired his house and he was
not aware of it. The wrinkles on the face
for the bridge destroyed, would not bring
peace within. Times were different, icy and slippery.
He hated only himself for the failure of ships
to sail through the scope of explosions
rage and tears. The madness of unchaste
happenings submerging the cognition.
His tongue was heavy, hands writing the epitaph
on air. The bald eagle scoops a bride,
slices the breasts for the green stigmata
of liberation. Ajmer, INDIA
SATISH VERMA
poem by Satish Verma
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Divinity Without
Your fangs open like lips.
I am ready for the kiss of death
at a war zone, where I was adrift
holding the flame, moments
stabbed by hot bullets.
Black and white words break the
embrace, I cannot study the bandona now.
Eyes winged, were sailing to distant
lands of smugness, a darkening calm
taking over the poems.
The pungent stink hurts, I swim
without water on dry riverbed, becoming
target for kalashnikov, the courtyard
filled by encroaching blood,
dominion of silent sobs.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Inward Burning Fire
It's a dark path now - I don't know where it leads.
I only know you're not on it.
Insufficient light comes from the flame in my heart.
The fire you started.
This flame rages seeking fuel to burn and survive.
Give me some coal dust from your hair.
Just some green driftwood shavings from your eyes.
Your oaken wood hands warming mine - they're so cold now.
Better yet, an answering warmth
from the fire burning in your heart for mine.
Nothing serves to heal a dying flame as that meeting would.
But that's my fire seeking what will not be found on this path.
So, the flame turns inward to die out.
I hide the smoke.
It was always enough for you alone to know of this kindling within.
In the flame's death it must be secret still.
The fire consumes internally,
seeking out each memory hidden away.
Consuming every thought I ever had of you.
No one knows the fire's rage
until it turns to them and touches.
It will burn on inward
until it has devoured every memory, every feeling
with sustenance left in it.
It's a painful death,
but once the fire exists
it can only consume until it dies.
I know this science. I accept.
I accepted long ago.
The fire is so warm when first kindled.
Soon, I hope and fear,
only ash will be left.
The pain will be over.
I know I'll be cold but I'll rest.
As for now, while it's still burning,
I will make one vow.
I will save one tiny ember.
I will try to keep it warm and safe.
Just in case the path turns - and there you are.
And if a spark still remains within you too
this dear and dreaded fire can rise again.
Though more likely I know -
my little ember will serve only to remind me what warmth was
and burn my fingers.
poem by Meli Secret
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White House
It was a rape of a city. Go ahead.
I still speak the old phrases
with back pain.
And let fly the silence
in beautiful emptiness
of a swollen heart.
On pain of anonymity
I wanted to clear my name
from tangled fame.
The after death comfort
of words when clarity
moves in the home of a meaning.
poem by Satish Verma
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Eternal Wait
Fear of becoming sane
inherits the hate of earth.
I wake up in the rains of time.
Fire of soul
extracts the thought shapes
like stark naked truth
in the desert of pain –
unbirthing the child of wisdom.
I hardly think, in my failures.
The house will go up in blaze
by the earthen lamp of fading glory.
There was no light, a quick death
of lips and speech. The human touch-
prints had avenged for words.
Inspiration will wait.
poem by Satish Verma
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Poetry
The flesh was putting up a brave dialogue.
I was willing to play the game.
Stunned, shocked, pleasantly sore
basking in heat of silk throat,
I asked the needles to go ahead
and stitch the wounds without loss of blood.
Wasps were waiting to light the candles,
so that they can attack the pink skin.
The fruit bats were hanging upside down;
time for fellatio. A boundary was submerged
in deluge of anger. It was a white night
for an ice cream cone. God bless the queen.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Forever
Slowly fading blue
The eastern hollows catch
The dying sun
Night time follows
Silent and black
Mirror pool mirrors
The lonely place
Where I meet you
See your head
In the fading light
And through the dark
Your eyes shine bright
And burn like fire
Burn like fire in Cairo
Burn like fire
Burn like fire in Cairo
Shifting crimson veil
Silken hips slide
Under my hand
Swollen lips whisper my name
And I yearn
You take me in your arms
And start to burn
F.I.R.E.I.N.C.A.I.R.O
Then the heat disappears
And the mirage
Fades away...
F.I.R.E.I.N.C.A.I.R.O
Burn like a fire in Cairo
Burn like a fire
Blaze like a fire in Cairo
Blaze like a fire
Flare with a wonderful light
Like a fire in Cairo
Burn like fire
Burn like
Fire in Cairo
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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House Of Rains
Hold the innocence,
at brink of sliding death.
Formless learning never answers
the questions of life
and truth. A single meaning
connects to unnumbered voices.
Anarchy of rimless vision
flourishes. I trace out
the pink stain of a murder on the sand.
Going beyond the fear
was a sane thought
I was the pain
and I was the truth.
Life presided over
the hyphenated relationship.
What do I do with the broken mirror?
The severed head of sun
trembles in the mid - afternoon.
Light of the east fading?
Cogitating on fear of dying,
In contrast to benevolence
I flung out the pleasure, from window
to find the brokenness of time.
The depression swelters under the doubts.
I want to see the house of rains,
of wounds and your pride.
poem by Satish Verma
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Wings Attached
In slap at your icarian path
the call was not taken
from inside me.
Anxiety in a troupe of clouds
was rising. A deep dissent
within winds surfaces after sunset.
On the footpath comes a noun
in the land of abuses,
taking a vow of silence.
The moon becomes green
in a blue sky to get
the blessings of surging frost.
Knew nothing about the
future flooding of apples.
Falling from the tree.
poem by Satish Verma
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Mirage
A futurist virginity in black rose
was seeking posthumous award
for immoral kisses of thorns.
Unaware of lethal thighs
skipping the lunar landscape
at night.
Were you going to leap over
the mountains curling across the glaciers
of white pain?
I will extend the shadow
of infinite truth,
when we talk about the half-death
of unborn hunger.
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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Sanity
Being alone,
writing poetry
to meet the infinity
on paper.
The words will not come
to me. I am trying
to catch the moment.
One by one-
I light the candles,
watching you slithering.
A transient truce
with my hands.
Collecting the broken
light years. Enter
into the eyes. O river. The hunger
to trap you is increasing.
poem by Satish Verma
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Downpour
Your lips were me.
I wanted a kiss
which never came.
Insertion of a word, was committed
my wings took a flight
for anonymity.
To keep suffering alive
truth was accepting the hurts.
I was not speaking for myself.
Who was me to want a praise
for the custodian of morality?
Something for my name?
I must salute the fallen fingers,
who did not write death –
for my hugging blankness.
poem by Satish Verma
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