Gert Strydom, 5 december 2015
I
Memories of the past day do flood my mind
and my whole world has changed from what it was before.
I see a movement at the window’s blind,
hear you walk on the wooden floor past the door
but thought struck pass the world rushes on
and the setting sun says that the day is gone.
II
At twilight my study is a peaceful place
and you walk in with a bright smile on your face
and the tranquillity is no longer mine
but outside nature is at rest as if touched by the divine
and inside it’s only you and I
while the first stars do touch a pitch black sky.
Satish Verma, 5 december 2015
It was very transparent
death of the shadow;
life moved without it.
We both had seen a huge hunger
and the veil of poverty,
and a cult of familiar lies in
ancient puddles of guilt.
There was no mourning. Love
and hate shaped the duality.
Life and death moved
hand in hand running in mystic silence.
Some thing has evaporated like
a spirit from the wreckage
of emptiness. A witch hunt
started to find the clarity.
A flower melted into a book
a primitive instinct was there
to survive.
My blue valley burns,
I stay attuned to fog.
Smoke and slap of winds.
calling up the sky.
Illusion of peace shattering
the night. The soaring soul floats on
the serene aura of solitude.
I don’t want to wake up again
Satish Verma, 4 december 2015
Timeless I dream about
a sleepwaking into death,
inside me. Lifting in sound
and the wet silence.
The boisterous stream of years rolls down
like the debris of earthquake
from the hill. Life casts out
the pretentions,
throws the tears at my gate.
That was not me,
the smoke from the footprints
the failed virtue.
Black sweat of my arms started,
the disposition of blind truth.
The enquiry provoked
a further dialogue between time
and sun tanned cancer of a city.
The death of a whistle blower.
In the stillness of mind,
I enter to meet the mauled self.
In the wordless flesh a drama unfolds.
The tongue fixes
the blame of a desireless god
sees only a shining darkness
of a suspended faith.
And a mad fadeout, amputates
the linear thoughts.
Satish Verma, 3 december 2015
When I touched your pshyche,
my completeness wavered.
In the empty words
and hollow thoughts.
The road to my dream house burned.
I longed to meet my flame.
You were listening to declaration of truth.
It was a refuge,
there was no evidence
of any movement of humanity.
My soft mind took the imprint
of golden spaces between
the dark alleys of earth.
The skeletons of history remained unclaimed.
Remembering your trust
My attachment floats. Anxiety
of seeking. The dust smears
the face of epileptic truth.
The clogged arteries of mundane heart twitch.
There wasn’t room for sentiments.
Moment to moment I travelled
to break the silence in vain.
Satish Verma, 2 december 2015
The family evolved from
virtue to virtual image.
I wanted to exhume the body of truth.
Half-way we went to the moon,
half-naked was the bluff.
No choosing, no judging helped.
I saw the fear in eyes.
You found the inside was out
behind the words overnight.
The fountains were dressed up in neon,
something new was in air,
the forked tongues were hissing an arrival.
Cupped mirrors were reflecting the lure
of the city. Thirst was absent.
It was hunger in the heart.
You face had a bleak shade
Darkness? I hide my scent.
Snakes were visible in the bush!
Satish Verma, 1 december 2015
Must we go beyond
the black holes of burned books?
The flight from the edge of circles
leaves the dust behind.
Inside our wings are embedded
the years. In the sky
we must part. The parallax is here.
I will pursue the centuries
circling over the memories.
A single page flutters,
rest of the book is silent
not skillful technicality,
only a smuggled simplicity.
I fall into the stillness
of a ceaseless motion,
fall into yesterday.
The feeling to put out
the bright candle is very strong.
A burning solitude.
Face to face with motionless dream
the wide space between letters unfold a meaning.
The absence of central thought
was the essence.
Refusing to churn the evidence,
we forgot that our territories could,
not hold the bliss of another self,
of another relay.
Satish Verma, 30 november 2015
Joining the seams for the sake of probity
you opt for the wages of truth.
Staying hungry to read the cosmos,
connecting the meditation to love
denatured. You are afraid of losing
the thread. Memory of infidelity of conceivement.
A vision without the thought
was a consecration
to think or not to think
was a great dilemma.
A backdropp of the prisms
always made you crazy.
Listening without ears,
seeing without eyes
became a brilliant idea.
Children of grief coming through
the open doorways
of mind. Soul mates.
I dream of a desperate ending
of midnight journey into song inviolate.
What if the night ends
without a human face?
Body becomes the path unending.
Satish Verma, 29 november 2015
For a patch of happiness
you rushed into the arms
of clouds. Only to fall back with tears.
The glazing authority of moon
hangs on the poverty of spiked wisdom.
Betrayal is the norm of celestial thinking;
how can you accept a dropp of death?
What is your motive
in watching the pain?
A path, a tunnel,
a precipice. The collage of purity
has the innocence of sorrow.
And truth, sails like a phoenix.
There is complete silence.
The flameless fire collapses
lapping up the anger.
Pouring out all the heart beats,
emptying the mind
darkness lowers the wheels
between muscles and bones.
Your body is eaten half by dusty thoughts.
Claustrophobia chokes the little stanzas
you are afraid, some one cares for you.
Satish Verma, 28 november 2015
The rose month is coming
I am not ready to receive the guest.
Mistletoe will takeover
With folded hands wind was blowing
No star accepted the gift
of burning earth.
He walked alone in the ruins
to search the time of rich.
His hunger did not find the bread.
He thought he was good as a bone
in the diet of sunset
on the snurfs of dew.
Innocent was the betrayal
under the sheets.
Pert was the sting.
Myth stumbles out from dead souls
I am walking behind the moon
your hand was on my shoulder.
Satish Verma, 27 november 2015
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.
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