Claim For Fame

The journey is brutal when you arrive nowhere
striving for unsaid perfection.
Life drips. Your wounds snap the love.
A tale becomes a twister.
Between the blinds is buried, the window. In dark
a depression fills the room.
The untethered loneliness.

Fearing from self.
A time to become insane without anchorage.
My ruined book becomes a home for spiders.
Bewildered dreams rise like vampires from the skull.
I will not mourn the body.
The spirit walks like the white light.

It was a thwarted desire, to die empty-handed
beside the troubled mind.
Was there a path to truth?
Being, what lies are?
The soul rustling the shadows of mortal thoughts.

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poem by Satish Verma
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Comfort In Hobbling Home

Washed by tears, the flame kindled again.
Crimson magma was quick to engulf
the drops on forehead. Fired from close range
the bullets opened the bloodgates in quick succession.
It should not have happened!
Therefore the journey resumes outside the good
or the evil. The rdx bombs are found at
your doorsteps and you watch helplessly the
murder on dining table.
Are you safe in linens of truth? The lip
gloss of diplomacy will work? The sea
was turbulent and a hijacked trawler was left
on waves with the shot body of captain.
Your hands are trembling on the knobs without
doors. Through the death I perceive a
child crying in the arms of a sobbing galaxy.
There were needles on the road and our
soles were bleeding.

poem by Satish Verma
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Slaughtered Moon

Slicing thoughts, destiny
timeness of present, trying to watch
inside. The inverted question. Mask
removed.

Your own progeny spying on you,
disowning the moon bears. Beyond
truth was a huge wall. Ensnarement.
Whispers silenced.

A vast void. Interpretation of disguised
Voilence. Hostilities in elliptic orbit. Moon
slaughtered. Death was quick, spurting
the blood. Smearing the intelligence.

Paper weight. Surface tension. Shrinking
supreme. Parthenogenesis. Breaking
the square. Ending of scrolls. Cosmic
disorder. What brains were thinking?

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poem by Satish Verma
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Moony Affair

I take you in my arms. O moon.
Crazed. You have become a muse
of a dervish. I hear the noises. Inside.
Beyond perception. I could have swapped
with you. My rage. My skin. My solitary inside.
Becoming a dagger into your heart jumping.
Never falling you said. The evergreens. I
have again failed.The crops. Standing, on the river.
Not crossing the bridge. To meet the spring.
In meadows. May be. Unsaying. Will
it help to know? The words standing behind
the lips? Will you catch the words?
Floating in air, when I am gone with
the clouds. You will keep on repeating I
was here, in your eyes, in your tears.
Moving away in opposite direction will
you look back when dawn arrives?
I will hold you and kiss on mouth.

poem by Satish Verma
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Bloodscape

Monologue of a monolith
to live in a moment
was futile. A young house was in disorder.
Not listening, I would find the missing links.
Grey ash to be smeared on forehead in horizontal
lines for shifting the planets.

The age creeps quietly, irremediably poor,
unchanged in hysteria: after hysterectomy
the womb lies in dirt. Ethnic violence will fill
the carts of mutilated bodies, move to market,
selling the rage. Be in today, or tomorrow,
the blood brings honour.

Do not complain of weather, these arthritic
fingers, crooked toes, you will end on a cliff
after the logic of war fails. A bald year
moves, untrusting the noble men, I ascend
a coin to find the circa of topless democracies
destroying the pillars of feet.

poem by Satish Verma
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Again Falling In Love

I don’t belong to me,
to you, to her, to him.
Who are you, I ask myself
again falling in love for a tender shoot,
uncoiling under the debris of unfaithful corners?

I was watching a small birdie
hopping against a mirror, cracking the beak
to kill a rival.

She was pulling at my arm
white death in red scarf.

This is for you my fellow-traveller,
a beautiful sector of my hidden garden,
where I have permitted you to come for a walk.
Hand in hand we will watch the peerless evening –
sitting on the wings of gulls.
Will you like to break a promise
before I implode on the moon?

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poem by Satish Verma
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The Same Kind

Pseudoscrubbing was going on
the scripted drama, words apart.
The tears were denied to him
and the moon slowly made peace on the white
marble of a cult,
and the river had scored a victory.

He was very upset by the absence of
truth. Stupid god did not stand in the
witness box to testify the morality of
man. Genes were deciding the number
of queens. People were still worshipping
a pair of black Najas.

Neanderthal skull marks a step in the
evolution of art. The jaw bone still juts out
to define a mafia don. The slit eyes make
a good pottery class. White poison settles
in the breasts. An ovarian carcinoma
now spreads in bones.

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poem by Satish Verma
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Slashed Wound

In the silence of a nameless night, the moon invades
to bring out secret tears,
a perfect sky quivers.
The smell of human flesh flies,
and the spirit swirls down the history,
your hands seize little gods to get the answers.

How long this meditation on self destruction will continue?
Because of ending, decapitated faith loses eloquence.
The myth of eternal happiness slits the eyes.
Your blood drips from myriad capillaries -
And a new proverb commands the winds.

It opens to world like a slashed wound, your ruined life.
What was the mortal question of body to the soul?
Living for the day was very painful,
insistence on past was contradictory,
transparency had no consolation.
Absurdity of fog was there to stay.

poem by Satish Verma
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Introspective

the pulsating ache of flogging
after internal cave-in, a goldfish gets smeared
with sperm, unclosing, opening a slaughtered canal
for the drooping roses under the black wings

of shame when in our translucency we were
generously distributing arms to legless boys
for transporting the name across the aisle of memories,
the history repeats again in agony

of centuries. The salt inside a name wakes up
a darkness hauled up from eyes of faithfulls
between the sentences and nude angels, a stroke
will empty the womb of earth;

i do not want to know, what will happen to shaking
robots of mercy-homes, drilling the holes in
walls of love? Will the rain come again of red
drizzle on the mountains, the drought had already sucked up

poem by Satish Verma
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Spiral Descent

Where the laughter ends,
sorrow makes an entry.
The black cloud drifts towards you,
a gift of unknown to nameless.
The sacred bond of blissful ignorance.
I remember that I am still alive today,
my friends are gone.
I see a light on the hill.

So beautiful in its death,
a song lies on my lips
I face the world
with a wound in my eyes.
Space of many years
between me & my defeat.
Time has not come for farewell.
Cannot afford the luxury
of breaking down & then disintegrate.

Alone I watch you in fascination,

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poem by Satish Verma
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