UNENDING, UNENDING, UNENDING, UNENDING, UNENDING, UNENDING, UNENDING -
by
Satish Verma
In downy pink I watch you go my sun, at night you will pluck moon flowers. In half-moon eclipse the morning glory will wake me up in dew, alighting whole night on the rose branch. I still smell your lips. The head aches in singing...
GOD OF BLESSINGS, GOD OF BLESSINGS, GOD OF BLESSINGS, GOD OF BLESSINGS, GOD OF BLESSINGS -
by
Satish Verma
Moon-scented I walk in dark to put me back in place, unwithered, opening the inner casket for a glow. Pleading not guilty after killings in bed, of affectionate kill of lies, a black widow romps around with a flag of morality. Was it a systemic...
VIBRATIONS, VIBRATIONS, VIBRATIONS, VIBRATIONS, VIBRATIONS, VIBRATIONS -
by
Satish Verma
The battlelines were drawn. While drinking the sun I set myself ablaze A hooded dilemma of his kindness starts boiling in chaotic dissonance. A backlash stops a self-search. Who am I and why do I belong in the spinning of descent. There were flames in...
OF BURNING, OF BURNING, OF BURNING, OF BURNING, OF BURNING, OF BURNING -
by
Satish Verma
From here to you a legacy of dust was deepening. I was reading a lot between the dots. You will get another master I will get another pain. In the maze of tunnels a fear of fall snips. A window becomes a man unbuttoning the...
Weekly Poems from Poems for Free: A Happy Holidays Poem and More -
by
Nicholas Gordon
HARDINESS IS KIN TO HEARTINESS Hardiness is kin to heartiness. A full-sized laugh can fill an empty heart. Perhaps there is a play in playfulness, Passion honed by skilled and patient art. Yet what one wills will never lack for longing. Happiness is just another...
FOR THE CLOTTING, FOR THE CLOTTING, FOR THE CLOTTING, FOR THE CLOTTING, FOR THE CLOTTING -
by
Satish Verma
seething yet silent in land of outrage: strictures of life, my eyes will not see the setting sun; this was the blind spot before the battle starts and spine turns into ramrod in hot sun – to speak the version of domestic grief without lips...
MOLTEN ANGER, MOLTEN ANGER, MOLTEN ANGER, MOLTEN ANGER, MOLTEN ANGER, MOLTEN ANGER, MOLTEN ANGER -
by
Satish Verma
And, it tore through dumb claim; the fakes had commingled with the truth. Nowhere my soul found peace. One by one shadows were losing their skeletons. The tarnished face was forced to recant its nose and shrank into hole. Blood grievously turned grey and skin...
The Turning Point -
by
SUBRAT RATH
The Turning Point People think that life's turning point is somewhere waiting for them. Expecting that a turning point will come in their life they become callous and inactive in the present. Wasting the present moment is a great danger to self and society. Taking...
PERFECTION, PERFECTION, PERFECTION, PERFECTION, PERFECTION, PERFECTION -
by
Satish Verma
Ashes: I was gathering blue light from your lynx-eyed vessel of death. Against terror blind-folded, shot in the head on road. Earth was your bed and a shimmering moon your pillow. It was apathy of gates of heaven. The mist grows heavy. Daring to bare ...
TEASING, TEASING, TEASING, TEASING, TEASING, TEASING, TEASING, TEASING -
by
Satish Verma
Tonight when I come back clad in wounded memories, one seed deep the pod would lie in the forest of hands, I will wake you up in between the kisses of moon. The hawthorn lamps – let me light the last unlit of empty night,...
TENDER RAGE, TENDER RAGE, TENDER RAGE, TENDER RAGE, TENDER RAGE, TENDER RAGE, TENDER RAGE -
by
Satish Verma
After the weep there was blankness, then he started playing with fire for existence, of a rain which refused to shower. It was a fierce night of a hidden drought. A lethal dose of amnesia dissipates the calmness of a hangman: waiting to cut the...
A TREE WAS TALKING, A TREE WAS TALKING, A TREE WAS TALKING, A TREE WAS TALKING -
by
Satish Verma
He returned empty hands. Death was casually running around on charred bodies. Was lank poetry of a ruthless god. The house was on fire after selling its children. The days were becoming longer than life. Casus belli, whom do you want to name the culprit,...
LISTENING, LISTENING, LISTENING, LISTENING, LISTENING, LISTENING, LISTENING -
by
Satish Verma
They walk in dreams nightmarishly spirits of nameless faces staring without eyes. The screams: of a child on whom you poured boiling water. The screams: of a girl made to wear only flesh, because she ran away with a priest. The screams: of a wipped...
THE ENVIABLE, THE ENVIABLE, THE ENVIABLE, THE ENVIABLE, THE ENVIABLE, THE ENVIABLE -
by
Satish Verma
A moment of pause was needed in the eerie lull after the gathering of dreams, to enter the corridor of voices. We stopped looking through our tongues, across the bitterness of burning river, after the mud in our eyes. The black tar of the golden...
Co-thinker And Co-worker -
by
SUBRAT RATH
Co-thinker And Co-worker After the tiresome travelling in the day the traveler was sitting by the river side. The sun was setting and birds were returning to their nest. The traveler was marking the flow of the river. He realised that the river does not...
FACSIMILE, FACSIMILE, FACSIMILE, FACSIMILE, FACSIMILE, FACSIMILE -
by
Satish Verma
One fringe of image disconnected, a knife within, in a trench battle still continues between you and yourself for ending of animal. Did it bleed? Home was still faraway a secured period. Bouncing euphoria. blunted and bailed out paper thin memory of broken mirror. O...
VERBATIM, VERBATIM , VERBATIM , VERBATIM , VERBATIM , VERBATIM -
by
Satish Verma
Can you come outside of you? The dream inside a dream of the show. It must go on. For prudence of plucking from singularity of indifference, of mooning. Once upon a moon in timeless moon a green snake entered the moon existing in a personal...
TREASURE TROVE OF LIFE -
by
K.R.SURENDRAN
In my youthful days in the village I used to sleep all through the day. Except when Amma woke me up during the lunch time, I got drowned deep in slumber. With the serpent of darkness eclipsing the daylight I woke up, took a cold...
MEANINGLESS, MEANINGLESS, MEANINGLESS, MEANINGLESS, MEANINGLESS -
by
Satish Verma
The shift to vernal tone starts a standoff with eyelashes. A sickle moon begins harpooning the stars. The unorthodox microlove brings out a ciliated canon of faithless interior. The gods were going to become weary of snowfall. Punctuating the silence, words again scream, fly like...
ANNIHILATION, ANNIHILATION, ANNIHILATION, ANNIHILATION, ANNIHILATION, ANNIHILATION -
by
Satish Verma
What was left in our hands after risk and awards were given to seekers? Sign of grace at hairpin bends was absent.Nobody was speaking. A moratorium was announced. Somebody will have a glimpse of the moon through the interstices of pain. Not a word will...
