Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 31 august 2016

Night Raid

It was night sin 
of domesticity. Dyed, I am loading 
the white secret of pain 
in the hollow of a mayhem. 
 
 
Till every blunder takes a 
downward flight striping the outsized 
image of a kill. His flames are 
now singeing the eyebrows of angels. 
 
His foes have entered the compound. 
The black was alluringly looped in 
a stream of blood. Death did not 
wait for a ceremony. 
 
Lips forgetting the golden sheep, 
tongue apologies for the wronged earth.
 


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Morgan

Morgan, 30 august 2016

Herbst (Autumn)

Lord, it's time. Summer was so long.
Drop your shadow on the sundial, now,
and send a chill wind over the vale.

But in these last few temperate days
bid the grape to ripen on the vine
so that, cured of sour humor,
only sweetness flows into the wine.

Whoever is homeless now will stay so.
Whoever's alone will never find his other
but pass long nights reading and penning letters,
wandering port-less down highways
and starting when the leaves chirr.


Rilke


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Morgan

Morgan, 30 august 2016

Fruhling

Now is the time to come--
and the tree, swept clean
of purple, hosed
into the gutter, like after-the-wedding
confetti, stands merely green.

But, what green!
Overnight, the busy painter, not loath,
(for Nature abhoreth a vacuum) 
tints each leaf with
gold betokening growth.

We tilt back brims--
to an ancient song
coin novel words;
marvel how the times, again,
return and returning, move along.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 30 august 2016

Pantheon

After the moon 
it was an unkempt night. 
 
I wanted to kill the narrative 
and recast the frozen history. 
 
A dirt road leads to a new trajectory now, 
splattered with blood. 
 
A double tongued thought brings 
the ire of screaming horror. 
 
Strapped for knowledge, he believed 
in resurrection of a black hole. 
 
The pain, it hurts terrible. 
Emblematic was the bending of candles.


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Morgan

Morgan, 30 august 2016

Dog Day

In the US now we have Dog Day.
'Wretched excess', purr the cats
and 'a fine way to part fools from their money'.
Woof! Mere jealousy.
Pity, when envy clumsilly impairs
the shuttles of sentimentality.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 29 august 2016

Toeless Journey

The hawk was always hatching 
a pacer, 
to spin the surveillance, 
 
tampering the tracks of violence. 
The haul was heavy. Moon and fishes 
went on to spread the dragnet 
 
striking gold from the liquid 
denials. The sovereignity was 
violated of a virgin god. 
 
The rule of drinking was sidelined. 
Kiss will survive after the death opens 
the back door of a globe. 
 
Dreams are exhausted. There will 
be no comeback of a star player 
in the game of bloody manipulations.
 


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Morgan

Morgan, 29 august 2016

Cherries

In their blue-black coats,
a sun-splash for an epaulet
they're tasty this year
extra glossy and fat
God alone knows why--
some years are just like that.

Coming home from Costco,
one by one, we toss them back
(they're irresistible)
spitting the pits
(they fall in the cracks)
we mean to be trees
but doubt ever will:
longer mornings needed
we agree for that;
deeper soil to root-search in
than any here in the 'hood;
higher sky,
a particular slant of rain
and the kinship of their kind.

Anyhow, we can't resist.
And, coming home
fish them out faster,
by the two's and three's, now
from their plastic boats;
faster and faster
pop off the stems
and toss them back like years,
buffing them first on our shirts.


number of comments: 0 | rating: 1 | detail

Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 28 august 2016

Tall Claims

You become a chair. 
A dream sits in you 
for a graphic detail of 
pelvis. A trophy? 
 
Was it undecorous to present 
a cadaver walking on the earth? 
A serial killer wants a plaque 
on his grave after the verdict. 
 
Saber-rattling has started, 
unplucking the lovers of game. 
A peltate shield in hushed silence 
covers the undressing. 
 
The prisoner of words tempers with 
a mask to become a bruise.
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 26 august 2016

Death And Vision

The doubters will cross the coals 
after the raid. 
Apology will not be in attendance. 
 
Sitting on the throne of 
cold blooded assassination, do you think 
justice demands the revenge? 
 
Whom you are killing, the body 
or the spirit? Heads will roll 
after debriefing. 
 
O my god, politics always 
enters the fray, when you are preparing 
a carpet of roses. 
 
Against the black moon 
a fast unto death 
by a virile sunblind?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 25 august 2016

Unreadable

It was a fake time, 
moon will not rise. 
 
Words were afloat 
on junk dna. 
 
A stonefaced pseudonym 
dies point-blank. 
 
The surprise, the speed 
was not on our radar. 
 
The ravenous siblings 
now asleep on walls. 
 
Naive or disingenuous. 
A sitting Buddha will decide.


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