Satish Verma, 18 listopada 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 listopada 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 listopada 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 listopada 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.
Satish Verma, 13 listopada 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?
Satish Verma, 12 listopada 2023
Moon was climbing
down the stairs for the
soul searching.
Red, yellow, blue.
Someone has to die
for the rainbow.
You pretend to be
innocent, sitting outside
your home. Time was up.
The feeling persists.
Something has left behind
to knit the two torn threads.
The future karma
still claims the oldest
hymns of dark.
I am not going anywhere.
Satish Verma, 11 listopada 2023
To understand the body,
smeared with ash,
you will need wisdom.
Why did you want to―
translate the melodrama
of fingers, when hands were folded?
The silent scream
cleaves the moon,
and thousand stars
come to console you.
No compliments
were given to sun.
Will you tattoo my
name on your chest?
A caged cuckoo
wants to become free.
Satish Verma, 10 listopada 2023
In black sun
and white night,
I was ready to
breath in the arsenic!
Who was under
threat, I will ask?
The silence of the abyss
was going to upset me.
Can you stop―
these threarics, without
hurting anybody after
the unpaid debt of an
invisible devotee?
Drooping eyes
do not want to see the
setting sun in twilight.
Satish Verma, 9 listopada 2023
When sun was
preparing to die, why
did you ask for the
soft moons― crimson red?
Searching an
unmarked shrine of
an unsung hermit.
Why people come and go?
You would not catch
the mockingbird, trying
to be shocking, to reach
you, for a melodious song.
You just liked
a god, who had come
as a stream of light
from a distant star.
Satish Verma, 6 listopada 2023
Do trees quiver
in dark at night,
exploring their original skins
under the starlight?
Why do they talk
when we sleep?
Living is very cheap
and dying was expensive.
Would you mind
to buy death, letter by
letter in understanding
the market?
The Sunday moon was
always beautiful. You stay
on terrace to say goodbye
before closing the book.
There was eternal pain,
outside and inside.
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