steve, 30 may 2019
I waited for you all night long.. for you to come back to me..
But my heart knew all along.. it wasn't ment to be,
Its funny how we've no control.. of what we feel inside..
And though I knew how it would end.. I went just for the ride,
I'd walk a thousand miles for you.. I'd give everything I own..
I'd lay my life down at your feet.. I'd bow before your throne,
To have you say you love me.. to have you care at all..
I'd use every ounce of strength I have.. as I break through every wall,
But some things we can never own.. and you have to just let go..
It doesn't matter how much you love.. it matters what you know,
And I know that I can't have you.. I know you'll never be..
The one I wake up next to.. someone who just loves me,
Satish Verma, 30 may 2019
Moving on death trek,
standing near the stonehenge,
the hunger for immortality
begins to kill.
The summer solstice is there.
It could hinge on the bones.
Sometimes it takes all your life
to know what do you want?
Somatic. The flesh refuses to
go down on the divine path.
The urge was very strong
to go hegemonic.
Blue stones, walk with pagans
and druids were coming back.
I am not sure whom do I believe
I start an inward odyssey again.
Satish Verma, 29 may 2019
Waiting for a supermoon
like Aphrodite.
I translate my twinge
into moonlight.
The speed now hurts.
I want to go slow in dark,
Like wayward feet ambulating towards a carnivore.
It was not fair to call for
the soft snow,
when my eyes start
surging like a natural spring.
You had almost eaten me
alive with black fingers.
I did not sin, you come like
thunder making me deaf.
Satish Verma, 27 may 2019
Distrust prevails.
To be poor. Why did you need
less, than you want?
I will ask me, and get no
answer. Like hedgehog. Spiny
coat. You will not watch―
the thought coming. I do
not move. The dead horse
speaks of moments of stillness.
A perception cleaves the mind.
The world takes revenge
behind the glass. You were―
squirming in the vessel. What
was your name, among the
stumps? A cloudburst, wipes
out the deity. The walls
stand out in the death masks.
Satish Verma, 26 may 2019
Taking the drugs in heavenly
night. It is very precarious state
to live innocently.
The petals fall on your brows.
You are not ready to meet the stigma.
Pistil was wary of the human touch.
Neoplastic. I wanted a botanical
end. Like evening primrose, a
yellow death facing the sun.
The opal effect. You were changing
colors. A precious sin to become
a saint. Who is going to be a scapegoat?
The bankruptcy. Uncertainty will
overwhelm the haze. Stay indoors.
You will not be able to make a speech.
Satish Verma, 25 may 2019
The blue veins,
defending brazenly
the pink gloves.
Unwedded to moon,
I become sick
of hypocricy of hands.
As the boulders slide
on chest, to unbring the infancy
of snowfall. I put my shovel down.
Was it too early to start
the game pf ravishing
the temple of stains?
Looking at the pillars
that would not hold the
ceiling, inviting the moment’s eternity.
Satish Verma, 22 may 2019
Deserting a shrine, in the swirling
waters, I move, unbuilding
a path, under the shade of the moon. the
sprawling village has been swept off/and
so were the ponyriders;
a lifeless symphony of howling winds/
scatters the silence.
I step forward to meet the vapors
of after death./The souls are dead/
and the ghosts are walking in dark.
No ignition was left to recognize the faces.
No god was seen nearby.
I am at loss to make the return journey.
A boulder as big as the temple/
obstructs the view. There are moaning
voices/coming from under the sunk
houses. Why won’t the unseen hands/build
up a bridge. I eat your words
and go in trance.
Where are the bottle’s jinnees now?
Satish Verma, 21 may 2019
A dark secret
of double standard,
releases the hidden forces.
You must
bend backward to walk.
This was the rape of surrender.
The art of dodging,
the decoy effect.
You choose the ultimate hypocrisy.
You do not confirm
the rage of shirtless.
A name goes begging for the figures.
Shrine in mud,
will give you a final call
before starting the builddown.
Satish Verma, 20 may 2019
Don’t let me go.
over the cork, a bottle
fights for the fluids
to flow out.
No apology to
feel you. There was
no death in the night.
A sun lies down beside me.
The flesh was disappearing.
A blue star alights,
to make a landmark
for the climbers.
No regrets
for the crunch of dry leaves
when you walk on the
grave of the witch doctor.
Satish Verma, 19 may 2019
Since my ash has
blown in your mirror
I am warming up to your surrogacy.
Too much deep,
expansive cleavage. I am climbing
down a canyon.
The phoenix:
finds the water―
in your eyes.
Writes a funeral.
No punctuation, the
unwritten poet,
will not last the night.
I am spelling out
the grief of the lonely man on
the deserted road, talking
incoherently.
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