Satish Verma, 29 listopada 2023
Agni was weird
slayer. You can vouch
for it, eyes shut.
In the starless night,
moon was arrested once
for trespassing palms.
The nest receives
the feathers of lost birds,
left for foreign seas.
Satish Verma, 28 listopada 2023
You gave me the
ageless pain of drifter.
The gale won't stop.
Can there be second
coming, I ask you before
burning your name?
If love was blind,
why did the wise time stop
to welcome you?
Satish Verma, 27 listopada 2023
You gave me the
ageless pain of drifter.
The gale won't stop.
Can there be second
coming, I ask you before
burning your name?
If love was blind,
why did the wise time stop
to welcome you?
Satish Verma, 26 listopada 2023
Killing field
was still red!
What you were
searching in moonlight?
A small poem
cannot provide balm
for troubled mind.
Moon will come
every night to find
his paramour.
Words keep on
changing the sounds.
Satish Verma, 25 listopada 2023
It was a perfect
cover.
I ask you to let me go,
and stop praying for me.
The unspelled secrets
of moon, will not bother
you now. They start pain
from thoughts to thoughts.
Like a china rose
in exile, you hang out
in solitude. Not dust,
but water will melt us both.
In aloneness, I will
find you on red stones―
surrounded by wolves of
memory and freezing dawn.
Satish Verma, 24 listopada 2023
Birth of dark secrets
would extend in black light.
Travesty of sun.
I am in troubled
mode of mind. The eagle
dives to catch moon.
In water. Butterfly
effect you can see in
distant blue stars.
Satish Verma, 23 listopada 2023
Shrinking like the
face of moon, dark truth slips
from elite height.
The fear of unborn
poem, tears the blank paper
hiding the words.
Will rebirthing work
in stoned psychotherapy
of conversation?
Satish Verma, 22 listopada 2023
Don't come near sea,
I ask the moon, braless―
in love galore.
What will you see
in eyes of the burning sun―
rising very sadly?
It was writer's cramp,
coming at shrine of snow
god under dark clouds.
Satish Verma, 20 listopada 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?
Satish Verma, 19 listopada 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.
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