Satish Verma, 1 października 2022
The dark side of moon
simmers. There was an outbreak
of romance on planet.
*
Ah, the senile edge of
twilight! Which way the light will go
to shine dry humor?
*
Shall we change ourselves
in dim hope of rebirthing
of our ancient gods?
Satish Verma, 30 września 2022
Invite the hemlock.
In my end, you begin to climb.
Not political.
*
You let out gossips
for me to sort out pebbles
to prove narcissism.
*
Let the waves come. I
will stay at the bay to watch
the sea to go on fire.
Satish Verma, 29 września 2022
Pain on pain, how to
teach your being, when you curl
like a still reptile.
*
Won't be able to feel
you in moonlight, when it was
snowing pin drop.
*
You stay with me like
a strawberry mark. I will try,
write a name there on.
Satish Verma, 28 września 2022
Walking in sleep at
night with large steps like a
colossus on earth.
*
Measuring the planet
to find shelter for unbearable pain
of suffering souls.
*
Some chaste efforts
will take you to a deep hole
to displace the satan.
Satish Verma, 27 września 2022
Keeping the end at bay,
spurning advances in dark,
going for a witch-hunt.
*
For the truth. The man and
the beast were one. You will not cry
for the sake of progeny.
*
The swift fall of pen
breaks the barriers. There was no
one to read the scriptures.
Satish Verma, 26 września 2022
To save the last bruise,
after an encounter with
a kiss of the breaking rock and melting voices.
I did not want to
remember you in twilight
of dementia. There was no birthday for me.
A brown girl drowns
in my deep poems. You had become
a river without a bed.
Can you give me a
name― for my unborn child?
I loved him to measure you my mate.
After all I refuse
to die inspite of all the falls.
Beyond the bricks lies my blessings.
It were only you.
Satish Verma, 23 września 2022
Sitting before the white
screen, thinking―
what to write today.
Suddenly you will appear to
take a sweet revenge.
Proding the sensitivity,
you will not utter a single word.
I will start burning my―
paper boats on the banks of brows.
River dried, no water was
flowing from the dams of eyes.
Only the moon was watching me.
Tomorrow you will find a―
washed out body in dew of a
poem, half buried in red sands.
It still becomes relevant.
You pick up the remains of a saga
make a shrine of the god anonymous.
Satish Verma, 21 września 2022
Trying to count
the beautiful years, spent
in the journey of heart.
There was an uncanny
feel. The pink coldness
was not mine.
Like you ditch the
timelessness, and live in a
drop of dew to meet the sun.
The flesh. A suicidal
move to move away
from the relationship of night.
Of the tenderness,
benign death of a star.
Dust celebrates the glorious fall.
The grieving will not
stop. A charred book of bliss
terminates the vision.
Satish Verma, 20 września 2022
Tired from the world―
waiting for you, till the night falls
and heart accelerates.
You will come gingerly―
sticking the moon on forehead,
go near the mirror and smile.
I would ask if anyone else―
has loved you so much as me.
The fireflies start shimmering.
Tears will wash your―
eyes and you will read my
message clearly. Inside―
the eyes the image―
will develop of a venus.
I will write a poem.
Satish Verma, 19 września 2022
You were still thinking.
Thinking beyond thoughts―
the void, the space, the time.
A crush of relics was
piling up. Bloodshed and poverty
at hands, you do not want to talk.
The challenge of being or isness
persists. I go back to the
culture of ancient theology to
understand the divine arithmetic.
The numbers were increasing,
of gods, godmen and crimes.
No sermons. The autumn
will bring down the foliage―
green, red, brown
to yellow.
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