FAILURE

Sound of footfalls was drawing near;
the tiger has been set free.
In the wild landscape you need

some feverfew. Death was constantly
stalking to trade off the dolls in
lieu of sameness of the stones.

The shifting sand drips in the eyes.
Face to face we come near the blind
ruins of today, denying the questions.

Who was responsible for the dark
skulls in the ragbag and explosions
near the granite temples?

Your face was not on the poster, but
you write the lessons to interrogate
the past. The gods are not visible.

Satish Verma

NO-MAN’S-LAND

Sadness was invading my wounds. Again
I will dip my fingers in bleeding heart
to write a new poem.

A scythe cuts a cloud
that it was not. I reel under
the unexpected rain of wards.

You go up on top ladder
to jump in the hot cauldron,
no pain to drown in bones.

What was the meaning of living
with death daily and still smiling?
A candle makes a hole in your palm!

The brain has an infidel tumor;
if fails to grow and erase you.
You are absent to your being.

Satish Verma

NOW AWAKENING

Always working out the territory
to find out the limits on the right
to live or die. Why not to get

an assisted death when you choose
to go unnoticed without fission or
folding up? Time was becoming a book

you cannot read like a polygraph.
The carnivores are increasing in
numbers and destroying the eco-balance

of human relationship. The dry bones
are piling up and the gouged eyes were
gaping in ethical failure under hot

glow of brightness, the naked god
chasing the helpless man. The coming
of age of a dialogue on fear was

important for a debate to start.

Satish Verma

JUST BEAUTY

Today I want to take a lethal dose
of black lips, confronting the killer on
contract. Time dithers to escort. May be
a cold-blooded murder of a handful of
sick shadows will give a transparent
memory.

Planting a sad kiss on blameless
insomniac, I rub the sweet tenderness
of morning blossom, a work of a faithful
artist, an unnoticed grief (for the sake
of old promise) . Meanwhile the blue moon
splits into thousand splinters.

From the height of insanity flows
the chaste river of history. I defy the
laws of gravity and climb with death
all the time, becoming dark to myself,
finding the shape of light in
beauty of death.

Satish Verma

KILLING ZONE

If you walk straight under the
shadow of moon, to the salt lake
death will blow a long whistle.
Everything was ruined in war of words.

There was no peace in the heart,
even after meditation, the mind
drove for the flesh, caressing neither
blameless womb nor Oedipus.

The dead forefathers goad the hypocrisy
till the blood spurts out from
the black navel of centuries
and the forgiveness stands naked.

Satish Verma

STARDUST

Out of the cleft lip comes
a muffled voice
on the turn of events,

to interrupt a call.
Then the panic rises,
the blood was oozing from the larynx.
The winding mountain path goes to the end
of blessing where the prayer drowns.
What was happening to the golden land?
Did the green worry about the iced peaks,
from where the glaciers take a bend
to enter the valley?

Who was negotiating the winds?
The logic between the stars and moon?
Huge gods were speaking to the men
in black, wearing eye masks on the highest terrains,
not heading my grief.
The dust was crying.

Satish Verma

SHACKLWS

Spark of libido was doused
in golden dust.
Let the darkness decide
the ascension of ice.

The possession of naked rose,
him, the pure jewel
panicks in the manipulation of hands
crawling on the purple sea

of corals. A battle starts
for a mystic wheel, for opening
the door of heaven. A sooty
entrance in the hall of sins.

The gathering of queens, a flock
of serpents; the failing guts
of the hero, what if the city
that never wakes.

Satish Verma