Dares The Storm

The pain out-thinks every moment,
all over the body
I wander in a solitary walkway.
There is nothing between mind
and brain. Whole prosperity of thoughts
curves easily. The body
spends all the internal wealth
to gain a humble peace.
The rambling melancholia
pales into white lava.

The fatal fear follows you
like a hot light. The pursuit
of incense, the chase of
beautiful icon’s cleavage brings
the charm. Speaking about the ecstasy,
about the shapeless pleasure,
the ultimate opposite of
sacredness becomes instant
liberation, from any symbol.

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poem by Satish Verma
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I V/s We

Cannot decode the signature of fear beneath the huge eyes,
serene and calm, darting right and left, like in stricken
animal at frenzy. Drift we must; will seldom cross the path.
Agony of existence, flying thighs, erect humps, sliding on sand
dunes. Even moon melts in our mouth.
You had kissed the frozen lips; of betrayed night.
The sudden gyration of hips, fading of stars,
and waning of nameless memory. Let’s go and
hide in blasts of whistling train. Pale wool of
knitted love cannot hold the heat. The waiting will
be over in minutes. Wheels will runover an epoch.
I would raise my head after ages in astonishment. I was still alive, cast
in a different mould. Dislocation became my integrity,
my fate, a frightened truth.
People were very short sighted, could not cross infinity.
Supreme was in them, discounting morality.

poem by Satish Verma
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The Quest

The space was widening. Opacity was
Being. Antimatter in. You were scared.
Why this disintegration? Unthinkable hunger,
Incompleteness. Antithesis of universality. My
smallness. His greatness. The heat sucks the
blooms. Celestial dance of the destroyer begins.

The body makes I. Soul is me. The death
was climbing up the stairs. Hiding
in attic you were singing, refusing to see
the visitor, Dismissal of blast. Was a global
failure. How many bodies you are going to
count? Not enough graves. Mass burial?
or descent in tower of silence?

The sludge. Delta is disappearing. Nystagmus.
No land to build a home. Withdrawal. Poachers
are killing the tigers. Claws for power, killer’s
strength. A tall tree stands on ridge, meditating.
Peacocks are watching. Will be their turn

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poem by Satish Verma
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Impresa

In culture of counterfeits
a snip of intelligent gene
brings the pink tears
for the brown eyes.

A virgin goes for a spade
in the naked sun.
Let me think of polymorphism.
Can there be an answer-

for oblique questions?
Can this tottering frame live?
Life can still stalk the death
and stand for the body in the sack?

Fielding the enquiry about race -
gap, you said the walls
are crumbling. I read the message
half-believing.

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poem by Satish Verma
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This Day

It was inheritance of pain. I should
have known. Incontinent, she was scared
to hug me: the child, after the rape. Shepherding
the lacerations: petrified, a body of lad

floating in a sewage tank; a short circuit in
an incubator, row of infants, life snuffed out in flames;
of being. I want to know ontology, need a
spinal surgery; somebody wants to abort a fetus,

because of mistaken identity, an alien egg
was implanted; racing time, bitter and corrosive,
it happned for the first time; karma, you say.
I don’t agree, you need camel’s milk to clear

your thoughts, like clenched fist against the
darkness; the little child, lad, infants, mortality after
a wrong calculation; the test tubes and petri-dishes,
need despoiling while the soul screams in a

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poem by Satish Verma
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A Replica

You go down in the dry pool
foraging for the political errors,
irisprints, a certain desire of revolt,
any skeleton to identify the victim.
An awful claim, the accuser was becoming accused.

For namesake somebody was dying
unceremoniously for holding tuberculosis.
Dots did not help. Washed and dried curses
went into the background. There was a cease-fire
for sometime but the guns will start blazing
any day on fake pretexts.

The ending of pain or pain of ending begins.
The past was chasing, future uncertain, present
is ugly. Peahen likes the tail not the crown.
Peacock is on tree and on fire. Deflection
of sun marks the beginning of eclipse.

A word falls from a crossword puzzle, makes

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poem by Satish Verma
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Future Signs

arriving to shun that wolf
on your blood’s trail,
you comb through rubble,
tormented:

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

glimpse of fear,
fixated at otherness of yellow sin,
threatened, panic white,
suicide note;
now you have come out from your tremors
stillborn, sine die

………………………………………………………………………………

with umbilical cord around your neck,
squeezing,
choking,

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poem by Satish Verma
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Substantial Shadow

Walking on dead leaves covering the grass
to and fro, to and fro in solitude, hiding
behind the mask, pithy face, ideas rebounding,
a loaded eloquence, opening a diaglogue with self,
quietly bleeding inside. You are hearing
the sounds of winged carnivores who had been
devouring your brain cells. The time is ending,
death has no relevance, no respect for the survival,
insulting the existence, anguish overtaking
the joy of new born, lifted by a fog.
We are reciting the hymns now, lighting the lamps
to see the stains on the walls. The bronzed
sculpture refuses to come down from the pedestal,
afraid to go to a warehouse, to the lonliness.
A shadow moves away from the light, makes its own
length and buries in unconsolable sadness.
Pure eyes in which float the tears of million people.
Dying lips will always narrate a tale of abandonment,
will not be able to say adieu.

poem by Satish Verma
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Jottings

there was a tree rose
piercing me and killing me, I thought
it was cheating on me after the sunset
when moon was walking alone

you know what is love
we think different things at the same time
but we are always alone, you do not think,
I think about my god, saying a prayer

to unknow him or keep him alive
he has a debt to pay me back because
I created him what cosmologist would
say was an accident

somebody comes with a strange version
I say, a transgender was also entitled
for his or hers right to love, may be
marrying a deity one day and have free sex

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poem by Satish Verma
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Close The Circle

Why are you packing up for final journey?
I am not getting the signals from the stars
through the amnesia. The moon will rise
on the desolate landscape of broken dreams
A shudder gives away. You always pursued incompleteness.

So the striving continues, for wholeness,
without sitting in meditation, remaining restless,
churning, agitating, creating comets on the lips,
touching the tulips, red roses, scented air,
traveling all alone through the black memories.

Talking to yourself in emptiness, wading in the
green eternity to find pure, unblemished truth,
the secret of eternal youth. Which fear had
perverted my vision? Why should I be afraid
of meeting you in me? Cannot I maintain my.

Integrity? The wheels are moving and your
gifts are lying unclaimed. Where do we meet?

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poem by Satish Verma
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