No, No I'm No Ovid!

A useless space between the sentences,
ghastly story does not end in black and white.
Again the heart cries.
I keep on knocking on the doors
and then return to blackness.

Sometimes people become insects.
Cockroaches, ants and spiders,
weaving their webs and hills,
crawling, creeping, clawing.
Flesh eaters. Pouncing upon hapless victims.

Depression. I am devastated.
Something churns in breast, dousing the spirit, lines and words.
Cannot sit quiet. Agoraphobia. Don’t want to talk.
Somewhere a name crops up. Saint or beast.
Under the trees there is no shade. I walk barefoot.
Hungry dogs chasing the flies.
Humidity fills the eyes.

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poem by Satish Verma
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Lips Will Measure

A perfect solution
was never found. The question
remained unanswered beyond
the skin. Stripped to the bone.
afraid of future,
you cannot invite the ending
and present will not continue
indefinetly. Unabated,
over and over again,
you hit the trail to drink the sun.

Pain and sorrow, hurts and grief,
is prescribed fear of unknown.
In the dark tunnel,
your numb limbs
search for an explanation.
The dialogues with stones
do not bring comparison.
You should remember your name.

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poem by Satish Verma
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Bliss Of Another Self

Must we go beyond
the black holes of burned books?
The flight from the edge of circles
leaves the dust behind.
Inside our wings are embedded
the years. In the sky
we must part. The parallax is here.
I will pursue the centuries
circling over the memories.

A single page flutters,
rest of the book is silent
not skillful technicality,
only a smuggled simplicity.
I fall into the stillness
of a ceaseless motion,
fall into yesterday.
The feeling to put out
the bright candle is very strong.

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poem by Satish Verma
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Bleeding Heart

And everyday we talk about the sinister designs
of semilunar nights to rob us of our days
when the sleep was far away chasing the sleep
and the crumbeled continuity of a tale lay unpeeled.

How to highlight the dates on our calenders?
You keep forgetting even the years
when your forefathers left.
And deep in the green grass the names were wiped out.

Winged days were shot down after returning homes,
late evening, when listening to commentaries on death
and reviving myths of blissful healing
from reincarnated saints.

The pseudo-dementia, scented jasmines,
flickering flames, leaking petroleum,
human torch,
and your non-stop crying.

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poem by Satish Verma
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Super Terrain

The metastatic figure.
He was seeking truth without thought,
being in and out, he was sleepwalking in
dream. I am the absolute, he said. Skeletons
are popping up everywhere. Poor beasts.
And there was the tired flame who
burned all night in vain.

The body was aching after the discovery
of a super terrain. Another earth? or
a conventional aberration? The planet
was heaving with hot clouds. Reason
for a substitute. Right perception of
life was difficult. Everybody was running
in opposite direction for a message.

He dives to pull up the corpse of liberty
locked deep in water. A noble idea to
free the corrupt world from the bondage
of decaying foundations. Half-truths and

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poem by Satish Verma
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A Love And Hate Story

I was learning, how
not to catch you.

Called the cloud
hugging a hillside.
Can you climb on the road?
No, it said, I want to play with the moon.

So,
this was becoming,
without presence.
An epiphany? No it was a crying
theme, discovery of the self.

When the tremors came,
you were flung like a doll,
opening the earth
one breath long.

Swallows were eyeing the sky.

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poem by Satish Verma
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Inverted Body

Ending of day was beginning,
of a terrible awakening
when you started filling,
in the gap between the lies.
Truth aborts every time
we conceive a bright idea.
Somebody takes a shot
at you to kill the name.
Small birds twitter away,
the hopeless light.

Every day you destroy,
a part of yourself, concealing the light.
Lava flows in your eyes, scarring
the profile of mind, which was not stationary.
Confession was out of question.
Private feeling hooked you,
to a perfect kiss of fate.
Hugging the wisdom, you started a laugh.

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poem by Satish Verma
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Santhara

When honeycomb started dripping,
he stopped eating and climbed a sand dune
for the last journey.Pall-bearers were ready
for blunt futurism ceding to a deliberate defeat.

Hunger was his turbulent empire, resting
his hands on the shoulders of rocked time
for the purification of greed and spurting desires.
His only mechanical aid was his pen.

Into the half century of geckoes getting rid
of tails when a monkey was found in the stomach
of a croc.Toons themselves spread out mocking
the winter of hexagonal windows. Grey birds

started melting on the burnt-out grasses.
Lions walked on identical twins of nudes.
A wet kiss of death ensured the beautiful
ceasation. Yellow roses opened the frigid body.

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poem by Satish Verma
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Ancient Sins

Drunk with pride
the streets are bursting
in self-indulgence.
Who was calling the shots?

Do you know the words
between intermissions, carry a secret-
till the brazen scoop
finds the hidden meaning.

It was grave
very grave truice, unmaking love
between the estranged lovers-
when clouds were seducing the moon.

You don't belong to this
crowd of renegades. Ants
will take away the
divorced dreams.

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poem by Satish Verma
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Aconite

Polarity hits you at face, Thoughts. Move
inversely. The deed, words, slogans
divide the eternity of time. No hygienic
patience. Persons coming from channels only.

The thing. Image in hundred mirrors.
Varieties of fakes and counterfeits. Foeticide.
Paedophile. Necrophilia. Peddling pink flesh.
It is. Peels of skin left on roads. Your shape,
my contours, his art. I am passing through
a tunnel. Open-and-shut. No end. No beginning
Two nothings.

Will keep on moving. Roaches are scuttling
like rats with wings. Their country. We are
outsiders. Strangers. Not to reveal the names,
No landmarks on walls, intersections, doors.
No vigilance, No corporatized pain. No
bleeding wounds.

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poem by Satish Verma
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