Fixed Flux
Looking beyond the window
I always wanted to shut my eyes.
No sky could hold my head.
I did’t want to see the innocent smiles
vanishing from the moulded faith.
The smell of burning leaves waftes through
the catacomb of dead thoughts.
The time does not spare any overflow of poetry.
Life extracts its price of tomorrow.
Nothing will change. People will laugh,
weep and mourn. A candle for those
who jumped from minaret of silence. A
bonquet for them who died on waves.
I will hide the kernel under the mud
by stealth One day amongst the
spikes a pink spirit will rise. A double landmark
for death and dust.
poem by Satish Verma
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Will You Marry Me?
Sky weeps, I was collecting clouds
from stillness of the sea.
A snake again wants to kiss,
I am learning to die
in arms of spiral mirrors.
Cannot forgot the cheating of umbrellas.
The stings, the twists, the hollow breads.
Foams are submitting the venoms
on golden plates.
I grieve for the dignity of a hangman.
The retreat leaves the blood
on the stones. My house was burning.
Will you marry me? I ask the dew
sitting on the grass. Don’t go
back to the sun.
A relentless bucket fills up, again
I am watching at the moon.
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poem by Satish Verma
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The Goodbye
A marble calm under the shaky gaze
was parsing the human pain. I would
lift the calculated grief from folded earth.
You feel badly bruised and racial war
becomes anathema. Past the age eyesight dwindles,
cannot identify the faces of dead.
O my God! Bizarred bloated eyes filled
with blood were groping for the fallen walls.
Who had dug the garden with grenades?
A theme hunger separates the hearts. When
desert was the bed for daughters and sons,
the fathers were shaking with hate.
The shine wears off the love. A different world
under the lids. Miracle does not happen.
We were searching for the doors.
poem by Satish Verma
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Non - Duality
I watched helplessly, my body being taken away
limb by limb
Life was becoming meaningless for the keeper.
So much chaos and fear. Flash and shadows
will not coexist in the same house.
Salt was diminishing day by day
and tasteless was cyanide.
You start beginning to understand,
death was not the key.
You have to ask for living without insult to ‘Why’.
How far you will go on the bridge?
River flows tumultuously under the feet.
All around a smell of burning flesh.
The spark was igniting internally.
I was water and I was stone.
Years were passing away without remorse
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poem by Satish Verma
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Death And Dust
Looking beyond the window
I always wanted to shut my eyes.
No sky could hold my head.
I did’t want to see the innocent smiles
vanishing from the moulded faith.
The smell of burning leaves waftes through
the catacomb of dead thoughts.
The time does not spare any overflow of poetry.
Life extracts its price of tomorrow.
Nothing will change. People will laugh,
weep and mourn. A candle for those
who jumped from minaret of silence. A
bonquet for them who died on waves.
I will hide the kernel under the mud
by stealth. One day amongst the
spikes a pink spirit will rise. A double landmark
for death and dust.
poem by Satish Verma
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Avalanche
A hand wipes away the dried tears,
chemistry working.
Somebody puts a hand on the globe,
gives a strong twist.
Flesh helps to forget the agony.
I squeeze the heart,
smell of pain wafting through the pores.
Despair and solitude maintained contact with me
I go blank, cease thinking,
graze melancholy.
Listen to humming of bees in the ears.
Scrawl a note on existence,
of a dropp which started an avalanche.
Talking of sensual divinity
and neutral attachment
a river moves on bald terrain.
Somewhere the water in the eyes dries up.
The salt remains, burns the cold prayers.
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poem by Satish Verma
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Wailing Windows
Face of terror was
chasing you in the dreams and
voilence made you sick of the
evil designs.
We must unpack our grief.
Hurts were huddled under the smiles;
times were stypefying.
I grieve for the dead
prophet, spread – eagled on road.
It had been a memorial death
fighting the ugly machinations
the days had planted.
A calculated murder of mighty truth
had taken place.
Again a flaming head
seeks revenge
violence does not cease.
The greed was the essence.
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poem by Satish Verma
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Plasma Oozing
We listened deeply to the sounds
of seed power of duality.
I was very restive
there was no time to review
the veracity of benevolence.
It was a flight of songs,
a passage through silence.
The event and nonevent,
became burning topics enslaving the angles of lips
and splitting the smiles.
If you wanted to feel the truth,
you must undergo splendid mutation,
to read the grains,
the sun, the rains.
Here comes the moon
sailing on dry bones
of our trivialities;
of our banalities,
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poem by Satish Verma
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Go Away
Unlived death, that was me
waking in exile from the bones.
He said I remember your verse
a split open bloom!
Given away your gems to sea
ready to become ash, green blood,
you have killed a white cloud
now go for a floral burial.
He said I remained unpacked
like an open wound.
How far space will hang on the shoulders,
how far the sky will remain blue?
Snow will not melt I presume
I will burn my shirt with stain.
Life will not stop but conceive
the proud burning pain.
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poem by Satish Verma
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Holding My Toes
An evening primrose glides,
on my rough hands.
I pluck a laugh from the lips,
of a parched face.
It knows the meaning of death,
kissing the pink eyes.
Of the lost fidelity
and the innocence of the dying sun.
How to tell myself,
you are not coming.
Gradually the house,
will go back to its still air.
The white ants,
will draw a pattern
on the stale books.
The traffic of private tears,
will begin to move.
The truth is a happening,
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poem by Satish Verma
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