Tantalus
Tonight a dark force enters my room
I will play with planets to decide
the course of my destiny.
A future has been tied to my past.
Such pain, strange exorcism, the evil spirit
stains the bed.
When I squeeze the eyes
fog deepens.
It hides the treasure of subtle creation.
Every thing is turning into black energy
I stop thinking.
A pretention of kindness, and monumental grace play
to stop the suicide after loss of
standing harvest.
The hope has been abducted
for a ransom of a child.
There is rape of a classical painting.
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poem by Satish Verma
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Death On Grass
Sometime, somewhere I will break
into many moons -
an oblique answer to a terrestrial question
of a pale river.
The heat is on, because of the
fatal mistakes. Violence has pregnancy.
Walls stand alone without a roof
hauling the suicidal balloons.
Blue berries are becoming scarce.
Vision short, we cannot see in the night.
Crystals in candlelight become green,
images creeping tall under the trees.
Of total failure, the chemistry of love
patches up with arithmetic of aristocracy.
Spoils the show of neutrality
in sky, hurting the gods.
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poem by Satish Verma
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Holding The Poems
The moon scrambles on
the fragrance of the trees
I think of humility & grace.
think of the secret of death,
honey of life and survive
by holding the poems.
I will ask myself
not to invent the echo of tomorrow.
In my aloneness
I watch the dancing of words,
the white tract of thoughts
without thinking. There are
no holes in heart, still the
numbers build the nest.
The abstract arguments of depression.
Lull before the explosive creation.
Movement of grief
is footfall in dark night.
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poem by Satish Verma
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To Go Back
Let me think without thoughts
to measure the mind, feel the crunching of words.
Time to know the meaningless life.
A flock of sufferings; they were all over
and I was looking at me.
In deep sorrow to go back into myself.
Where were you
in the forbidden void of silence?
The fountainhead drops the legends.
The effort to shift the truth is painful.
I am baffeled by the blinks of lies.
Nothing appears to be real.
Wounds transcend the flesh.
Here I am to feel the blindness of fate
the collapsed roofs of faith,
will discover a new god.
Dry and bright speech
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poem by Satish Verma
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Spastic Legs
We did not concede,
textured life was absurd
tried to struggle against misfortune; were thrown out.
To find a new definition,
of the restless syndrome,
without cause and ending,
the untouchable of the underworld,
were screaming terribly.
Conflict widens in the face of existence
the fall was inevitable.
Incessant goading on the spastic legs,
brought out the god of sorrows,
endurance was not the answer.
Danger was always lurking in the corner.
Strange sounds and frigthening,
sights are discernible
the tremors are felt in deep crevices.
You want to touch all the poles.
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poem by Satish Verma
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Vaporization
Death denial of candlelit vigil for a fallen harbor
brought the climate change for a flag which flew
at half-staff. The noose was tightening around the
open-hearted blossoms. A dead sea has started
selling its salt to land sharks.
These days I am becoming introvert. The needles
have become blind, cannot stitch the god given
sores, the private tears of a soldier wounded
at home by the hands of a friend. Missed abortion
of a truth.
I thought of lies inside her lips, my solid
mate who set my skin blue after I drank her
proffered drink of hemlock. I stripped to the
bones for a glow of death which comes when
you give away your life for a pink sun.
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poem by Satish Verma
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Clouds And Roads
On a sizzling riverbed, how many suicides
will make up the loss of a green moon? Must
we count our rags in sleep? Victims of a
manipulated music of bricks!
I thought, I will give you more, taking
less of you, have finally laid to rest the attacking
needles in the black holes of flesh. In rains we
will cry endlessly.
Another promise broken, would watch the stars
to set forth the eggs. A melon sweetens the
tongue of dissenters and robes are taken
off after the helicopter crash.
On the palms opium grows, bubbles learn
to float with the words of priests who were
reciting hymns to anoint the new incumbent,
will start the black magic again for mass slimming.
poem by Satish Verma
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Weeping God
When the very soul dies,
death does not need a label,
living with death becomes a ritual.
Craving for the kiss of time,
under the shadows of moments,
you are not you in the expanse of false pretentions.
I will be watching myself.
Questioning the validity of dying without the sun
night will not forget.
It pours the suffering, anguish and hurt.
The duality of black and white,
drives you to despair.
Poem was alive,
when it was not written.
Core of your being,
trembles on the name of limbs atrophied.
You were too close to the destiny,
which was always on the wrong side.
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poem by Satish Verma
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One Hundred Laments
Trading the sweetness, a rainbow
on icefalls, you will come back on rocks
and drink the elixir of death.
A fantastic dream of soap bubbles in a tumbler,
ejecting the inky grief on the transparent glass.
The pink goddess of wealth
will descend again in your bowls. Brassica
will decide the future of grass.
The moon ride has become cheaper in cans
like sardines, unethical but sleeping with god.
Thongs were visible on steps of bathing ghats
for the benefit of bullfighters. Gibbons
indulging in aerial bombing. Comfortable
in groves jacarandas were smiling.
Unlike you I smelt the dried flowers
between the pages of history
to meet the shadows on the walls of time.
poem by Satish Verma
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Dark Performance
An empty indulgence,
tortures the deep imagination
the immutable name of unuttered grief.
Gradually the fear of unknown,
takes hold of the lungs, spleen.
We don’t put the,
solitude for soul-search.
I am hearing myself now.
The fake overtakes the acuity.
Death looks the sacrilege from a distance.
The saffron clouds create
the opacity in transparent green.
Once we were all colorless,
full of dirt now; storing
our memories in empty hearts.
The vigil was over,
rains scattered the seeds.
The hours and days were littered
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poem by Satish Verma
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