SMASH THE BOOK

Today I am drunk with pain due to fragility
of reason.
Ungrateful city has defeated me.
I do not want any help
One piercing of morality is sufficient
to kill the portrait.

I have promised myself to commit my
hunger for a flame
which should burn probing the pickled
bones.

the kindness is tied to a smell of terrible
prophecies.
First pray for sanity and then smash
the book.
I will be trembling throughout the night.

Satish Verma

DARTING FEAR

Here again we are standing against
the wall of silence,
time has made us partners of sorrow.
Merchants of terror have spread their
wares
on the road. I was only a name.

Hundreds of miles fear was darting
no body knows who will become unfaithful.
Prayer demands subjugation.

Life sucks the laughter, we want to
go back to childhood,
shut the eyes and recite the hymns of
history,
when prophets were roaming in
neighbourhood.

Satish Verma

AWAKENING

I am writing off all the symbols,
will not wait for the judgement
and cross the boundaries.

I am not you,
I am not him,
a blemished soul
it wants to be set free.

Conjugating fever at large
colliding, colliding with guts of needles.

Tasting ambrosia of pain,
oedipus asking for another name.

I am offloading the ancient guilt
give me some time.

I do not want any clouds to follow me,
my words are scented with streaks of blood
and shine when only the cinders arrive.

Satish Verma

ANTIMATTER

Solitary moon makes a silent ascent,
penetrates into blue sky.
Night is cool, careless,
throws long shadows.
Undulating wind unfurls a tree.
My thoughts are pinned down to a nostalgia,
unbutton a grief.
Even the death has a charm.

Into every choice there is a hollowed one self-center,
anxiety begins, makes a crouching trail.
It is the untouchable, stillness, which hurts.
Passon for survival softens the blow.
I become moment of truth filled with anguish.

Another life begins with swooping dawn,
the soul sprints out of the emptiness,
darting on the brink of darkness.
The sun seeks the windy arms,
the innocent side of the world.
Soon the day will ride on antimatter.

Satish Verma

STUFFED SILENCE

Winds define the path now, in order not to submit
the discovery of another guilt.
The glory stumbles.
Before the altar, man becomes a souvenir.
Mechanically you walk like a robot, proud and erect,
cannot commit suicide.

Secret of discovering a faith was, not to kill yourself.
Shivering in awakened reality,
you grope with cauterized vision,
to resolve the conflict.
The revelation does not come.
Unchained freedom will come late,
when you become the destiny.

Everseeking a revolution, brain will find a false excuse.
The archives do not give a clue,
not exactly the circumstances,
but history collected the dirt.
Concepts could not bring out,
transformation of a prejudiced spirit.
fear and stuffed silence had the answer.

Satish Verma

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.

Satish Verma

UNREPLIED

Question of me,
vanquishing the existence, arises again,
At times life repeats the horror.
Insufficiency of a heart builds an orphanage,
I play the game, then flounder.
Poison is spreading -
the myth of absurdity overtakes,
truth breaks into splinters

Me and my dialogues with life speak of celebration
in vitro. Taking off the camouflage.
The body prints the friction,
but the descent of dark
and other questions remain unreplied.
The soul suffers in a hole.

All the pretty meanings,
become meaningless when time abstracts,
the stone prevails upon the daisies,
sin and desire go for a reward.
The door does not open,
I put aside the beholder
and give a voice to dead tongue.

Satish Verma