Life

Where Do The Sprits Go?

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Satish Verma

Disappointed.
I look at my hands to
read your destiny.

I fall to kiss the
moon dust. You were
my desire in sleep.

The spirit hovers
like the golden eagle
to rest the talons.

I stop the game.
Some cards had remained
undealt. I win, I lose.

You were not the
angel. You were not the mortal.
Where do I put my relief?

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The Crescent Moon

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Let me be myself
in cloud of tears.

A streak of light
breaks the myth
of superlunary, when you
were at war with
leviathans of deep.

When hungry,
you were flawless in art
of love. It wakes you
from old thinking.

Hiding behind fears,
I freeze to wear the death
gown. The words crumble
under the weight of truth.

Life remains beautiful.
I don't want to leave you.

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Albatross

When I look up in the sky

And I see your spirit soar

Mindful that I'm stuck down here

Thinking of before

I pray I cross your mind

As you sail among the clouds

And that you'll visit me

The next time you come around

 

I loved you with my all

But only pulled you down

I should've known my heart

Would keep you anchored on the ground

I've let you go, my dear

As you fly into the sky

I hope your fading thoughts of me

Will pass you by-and-by

Sad Protégé

Folder: 
Satish Verma

I don't recognize
you, after giving
a pause to poem.

It was an eerie
accident. I don't own
my body, and you don't
own your tears.

With solemnity, I
place my book, on the road
going nowhere. To be
read by the sun.

You buy the words
I sell the silence.

The hyphens wail.
Cost rises.

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Cobra Night

Folder: 
Satish Verma

You had failed
the truth, staring at
the hot sun.

To prove the criminality
of demigods, you
use a ploy to listen to
the inner voice.

The body revolts.
Fluids break the
boundaries against the
mixed thoughts.

You pick up the
grace of a fallen star.
Night weeps for all night.
Mystery of truth was
never solved.

You can transcend
the deep pain now.

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What Was It?

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Moon rolls,
on its own without
clouds.

Now you can,
fix the things, reading
dark.

Every day ends.
The road will not sleep.
Dusk to dawn,
candle weeps.

Like no pain
now, of your separation,
sparking rage.

Now you are
Plato. Will write for
the ascending hemlock, that
will destroy the hope.

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Launching Pad

Folder: 
Satish Verma

It was a brutal
day. My choice was a pink
moon above me.

The violence in
absentia impedes the
kiss of phlox in spring.

The fugitive
comes back home to see
bloody handprints on wall.

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You Survive The Day

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Standing alone
in the ring of fire,
you wanted deletion
of sun.

Somewhere destiny
fails, like reversal of
answers. Without
gallows tree, nobody wants to die.

Looking in old mirror,
you want to sleep
in canthi of eyes. The
flesh revolts.

I don't want to see
the end of beginning. Your
thumbprint has left the
curves, that lead
you to unknown.

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Sits Like Fog

Endogamy.
Don't hear much
of human voices.

Moon will rise again?

Deep angst,
pitch dark.
There was no truce
between the trees.

Undermining―
the sanctity of god's words.
You want to take the chair
of judge and hear to yourself.

I spot the blood
on sleeves. Who had used
the cleaver?

Can you bring
a period of silence, to
meditate for peace?

Somebody was laughing hilariously.

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