Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 december 2016

Landing Without Gears

In asci we stand like 
spores in a floating pain 
in trepidation of something 
evil. 
 
It was a lily pond. 
The water brings a dead city 
on lotus leaves. I will 
become crazy for small deviations. 
 
The body bags are full of 
remains. You know everything 
before hand, from alphabet 
to full script. 
 
In my own way I will 
decipher the stream of 
death’s language. A part 
of your face floats nearby. 
 
The uncollected legs were 
searching the flame of sorrow 
without digging a hole.


number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 december 2016

Contraptions

When I was arranging daffodils 
you send in tanks. 
 
The sky was overcast. 
When I was talking to clouds 
Fireballs are delivered. 
 
That signals the specific gravity 
is shifting to knobs. 
The artist was going 
to disappear. 
 
I think of faithfulls. 
How beautifully they talk of 
two moons. 
 
I had decided to quit 
when you send in a hymn.


number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 december 2016

Backtracking

Leave something for me to imagine. 
A skeleton in a pond 
leaps to the moon. 
 
In an air bubble 
lies the history of a suspended 
name, wasted away on water. 
 
A war is declared on the 
family of words, not spoken 
to anguish of man. 
 
I thought of my sun 
averting a disaster. The sprouts 
will not come out of the earth. 
 
An enquiry into the nature of 
immanence, leads to starvation. 
The body of truth turns into a snake. 
 
The revolution within, shows 
a false victory. You start again 
from the ugly fingers.


number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 17 december 2016

Enigmatic

The secular love: 
you are contaminated 
between skin and prayer. 
 
Back from the odyssey 
finding a crop-circle 
in bridal chamber. 
 
Rival was an alien 
with a flat stomach 
thinking black. 
 
The thieving sperms 
had a glorious end, 
unentered in grass. 
 
Your body was churning out 
a religion. 
I will find out my own god.


number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 16 december 2016

Ignition

Like a butterfly pinned 
in a collage, fluttering. 
Death makes a deal. 
 
I was appalled 
standing on the edge 
watching the withering body. 
 
The lake drowns me. 
Seagulls were waiting 
for a renaissance. 
 
It is not even midsummer. 
The planting of the kiss 
remains incomplete. 
 
No sex was involved 
in baring midriff. 
Moon ignites the legs.


number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 15 december 2016

Wishes

Nothing was beholden. 
Colony counts were perfect. 
You were never guaranteed and exit. 
 
I am stalked by lips 
of a black tulip holding 
a moonbeam. 
 
The world moves 
wearing a shell of emptiness 
in a cosmos, inviolable. 
 
Aggrandizement 
beyond the bluffing. 
More beliefs and many withdrawls. 
 
You will not kill me? 
Half-way to soothing words 
of ecstasy.


number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 14 december 2016

Night Vigil

Let us talk about ligation. 
I don’t want to push the – 
searing boundaries trumpeting 
the sexual orientation. 
 
The butterflies and bees 
are disappearing. A petri dish, 
a test tube and artificial 
thrust through the red lights. 
An unbroken promise 
lies in shambles. 
 
Availing something less, 
had been beyond the topic 
of returning back to home. 
The desert blooms again 
with indignant cacti.
 


number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 12 december 2016

O You

A monster from a tree 
jumps and runs around the bushes 
to mate. 
 
A blank statement 
is issued. The system groans 
and collective pshyche fails. 
 
A stark silence 
for the food for thoughts. 
I sit down to meditate- 
 
to find the bloody answer 
for white death. The dirty 
work to sweep the floor. 
 
It smells like an 
amputated leg. 
Do we need to draw a circle around the bomb? 
 
With a lie on your lips, 
are you going to negotiate 
with violence?
 


number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 11 december 2016

I Begin To Think

Abdicating the shadows; 
totemic. 
I return back to dig up the buried- 
moon from the ruins of poetry. 
 
It benumbs. 
No response was coming from 
cajoling the black secrets- 
of time-cast. 
 
A storm was raging in a pack 
of emptiness. Like a dead fly 
between the pages of skulls. 
I couldn't find the exact words. 
 
The religion of wish-lists. 
Can you find the end of desires? 
From thought to thought- 
was there any vision?
 


number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 10 december 2016

Tracking Down

White lotus at red feet: 
we will start self-infliction 
explicating 
with regrets. 
 
After a rough night 
the day was weeping. 
From where the bread will 
come, when you were playing 
with a golden spoon. 
 
This morning I again 
dig a hole in heart. 
Was the Mayan calender right? 
Why the sun is playing slow music? 
 
I am coming nearer 
to a locked god.


number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail


  10 - 30 - 100  





Report this item

 


Terms of use | Privacy policy

Copyright © 2010 truml.com, by using this service you accept terms of use.


You have to be logged in to use this feature. please register

Ta strona używa plików cookie w celu usprawnienia i ułatwienia dostępu do serwisu oraz prowadzenia danych statystycznych. Dalsze korzystanie z tej witryny oznacza akceptację tego stanu rzeczy.    Polityka Prywatności   
ROZUMIEM
1