VOID

As if my inner sound was demanding
take me for
meiosis;
I want to break into many daughter things.

Half my genes
half my color
partly male
partly female
disowning the boundaries,
my lasting pain of grief and anguish
becomes an androgynous god.

I hear the voices in brain
I see the nebulous thoughts dancing
I touch the fallen tears
from faceless eyes.

All my thoughts are leading to void
coming from nowhere
going to nowhere,
I am water and I am sand!

Satish Verma

CHARITY

Sometimes death lives for eternity,
a captive of silence,
or in hidden journey to flesh;
unless the body betrays the falling stars from eyes.

Dying was an appropriate thing
a festival of freedom for veils,
to leave you alone with your morality.

This terrible life ejects you
on the gravel to become a stone.
The fall from the beautiful height
was meant for charity.

No body wants to die for a toss-up
with life,
for a secret game of tears and smile.
The true thing of despair generates
a darkness, whom I owe my light.

Satish Verma

SEARCH

It was otherness which bothered me:
nothing happened otherwise.
Brisk and upright
He failed penultimately.

I still hear the footfalls
of circumstances,
of retreated sounds.

The hidden fire lights up
I squirm in pain.
The canopy of false rumors
falls on dirty road.

His gangrene was evident;
still he walked with a glow,
all alone, but listening to howling
and surveying the floods of tears.

A single argument
lifts the tanned skin
displeases the mob
and abandons the search.

Satish Verma

WHERE THE LIES ARE BORN?

Entrailes were sucked by grief
and pleasure bruised;
beyond the possible
I aspired to find
meaning of life.

A will to reject
unbearable waste,
I trim humiliation.
Time scares by taking revenge
breaking the inner serenade,
and I climb the doubts.

Heartache persists without revelation.
no bitterness descends.
I dip my fingers in blood
to write a flaming entity.

Tell me where the masks are assembeled?
Where the lies are born?

Satish Verma

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?

Long speeches. Verbatim fuel. Nubile
bombers. Circus of mediocre legends.
Failed epidurals. History is squinting.
Select values are outworn. I am watching
a very red sunset.

Satish Verma

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
now? Eyes on the plumage. For clarity,
vision and wisdom.

Satish Verma

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.

Impatience. Nobody opens the eyes.
Long sleep. I pray, no waking up.
Let the global warming end. Let the
terror die of its own Aconite.

Satish Verma