Satish Verma, 20 november 2023
You walk in air
without leaving footprints,
giving me nothing.
In the sound of
dry leaves, I search nothing
in abstention.
Who had molested
the white moon in rains
of the sacred land?
steve, 19 november 2023
You just don't understand, how much it hurts to be...
In the presence of my dream, that wants no part of me,
I can't take this anymore, I'm finally at my end...
You won't reach out to catch me, as I continue to descend,
I have to learn to say goodbye, and you must let me go...
You have no love inside for me, of this you've let me know,
If only things were different, if you cared enough for me...
You wouldn't let me say goodbye, and I wouldn't want to leave,
But "I can't hold on" to nothing, that's a place I've been...
I've hurt so long and cried so much, I can't go there again,
I'm sorry it has to be like this, and that I take this stand...
I never ment to fall in love, it's not what I had planned,
But I know that you don't love me, and probably never will...
And I don't want to hate you, for something you don't feel.
Satish Verma, 19 november 2023
You had arranged
the words to invite me.
Path was not found.
Flesh and the spirit
lived differently. Death laughs
you had it coming.
I would be same
even when you will come
in dark to light lamp.
Satish Verma, 18 november 2023
Thoughts―
were not picking the words.
This was ultimate loss.
How do I stave
off the disaster? You
were taking away my smiles.
What kind it would be
the next quake, when
I was standing at the door.
I have yet to
know myself, searching for
the invisible truth.
Cannot drop the―
pen. The eyes will read
the last sermon.
Satish Verma, 17 november 2023
When huge trees
walk, the rocks
tremble.
This was a sacred
ritual, to get the
tang of stings.
Distressed,
the naked eye
roams in ruins.
Behind the veil,
the moon will heal the
acid burns.
How will you
celebrate the night,
for sylvan setting?
Satish Verma, 15 november 2023
I am done for,
jumping the wall of
signature pain.
I hear you talking
in whispers, to an invisible
god of absence.
A journey breaks
halfway. Were you going
to write off our hand-made tapestry?
O God, you hit
precisely. I want to throw
back your kindness.
Ah, the scars don't
go. Time does not heal
the wounds of earth.
Satish Verma, 14 november 2023
Sundown
body becomes blue.
You were stitching
opals in eyes.
How do I find
you, when you would not
come in twilight?
The flight of a swan
takes a turn to cross
the river of flames.
Would you be a witness?
For the sake of death
don't die, amidst the hymns
of pain in dark shadowing life.
I know, I will
suffer in sunlight, when
the moon squeezes the blood.
steve, 13 november 2023
I don't know "what to say" to you, I don't know what to do...
This broken heart will never heal, unless I'm far from you,
You feel nothing in your heart, you have no love for me...
While I struggle with feelings for you, that you refuse to see,
You don't need me in your life, you've got so many friends...
You don't need someone who cares, you need someone who bends,
I'm at my very end, and just want to run away...
The pain keeps getting stronger, and the skies are always grey,
I want not to walk away, for my heart belongs to you...
But if you don't want me in your life, I must face the truth,
My only option is to run away, as far as I can get..
Don't look back, don't say your name, don't try again just quit,
I don't know "what to say" to you, I don't know what to do...
Goodbye would be so easy, if I weren't in love with you.
Anuraag Sharma, 13 november 2023
Dear Luang Phi,
it is 4:00a.m. And April, 3.
The tenth moon—a shut argument
begins to wind up and shy away
with stars sinking one by one
like hypothesizes.
A dark lull looms over the sleeping city.
And I sitting in this Vihara
think of Lu,
of you, Bhante!
Your wisdom, your words, your
wanderings! lost into a sty.
A saint is a projectile thrown
into ad infinitum
into an endless sky.
How comes it, then, that the parabola
turns into hyperbola.
Kung Fu! were you the one
who cared more for the human
beings than the burnt stables
unthinking of the horses, the centaurs.
Were you the one who
invented nothing, yet a transmitter.
Your disciples and descendants transmitting
a horrid hell for humanity.
A shameless dragon spitting
infernal phlegm invisible—
A choked city mews and whimpers
in a coma. The bang at Wuhan
rent apart the sky from horizon
to horizon. The Astroid 7853
has hit the pleura of April
unsinging the songs of Spring.
Bhante! You envisioned and your progeny
bartered for an autumn—all
pervading when they fall like
leaves, lone in isolation.
Ages ago, my substances—Kashyapa
Matanga, Dharmaratna met with
your shadow—Zi Gong
on the banks of Hwang Ho,
exchanging formal greetings,
perennial good and the analects.
Shadows after shadows after
lengthened under a suffocating sun
lost in the labyrinths of
all that is not Confucius.
Bhante! Could we weep together
in isolation, though for what
we together had dreamt and
been denied. A thin crack in the
South Wall Frieze of the Supreme court
is a chink in the façade of this Vihara.
Beyond this crevice, the birdling of a sun
sings in. A tear-drop from
your half-shut eyes floating
down the Yellow R, down
to Brahamputra—moists
my cheeks.
The Vihara is awakened!
Satish Verma, 13 november 2023
Paper wasps tend―
to simulate. What
if death becomes a part
of our life?
I sent the message
over the hills and moon,
when you were gone.
Without pain, were
you ready for the ending
of life, when life was itself
dying daily?
The day lips crack,
little or nothing was left
to say the voiceless hymns.
Your truth, was beautiful.
Was it a real truth?
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