# #betrayal #life #forgiveness #suffering #sadness #pain #mistakes #madness #love #Friendship

Confronting The Unknown

Folder: 
Satish Verma

I walk for a short while― 
talking with the moon and 
thinking about the zero― 

and spirit and water― standing 
my ground, I ask the earth― 
tell me, whose fear was greater than mine. 

If god was blind, then why 
so many planets and moons? Is that true 
that between good and bad lives a shaman? 

There was something 
behind the walls. A lot of noises coming― 
out, as if nobody was perfect. 

The realization itself was hurting. 
The day I started sweating, 
reaching the icy peaks of understanding.

Violence In A Cup

Folder: 
Satish Verma

The winged sex of the 
module/wants to stay naked. 
Everything backs it up 
to become a suicide bomber 
on the beach. 

A cactus will not bloom tonight. 
A shirt was loaned to the 
tortured torso without head and limbs. 

She was possessed by a 
black spirit of a squirrel, 
which was killed by a hatchet. 

Bit by bit a moth was eaten alive 
by the ants. Only the dry wings 
were clapping.

The Prairie Wool

Folder: 
Satish Verma

The trapped body 
will not listen to baby fugue. 

The perception will find― 
the writing on the flute. 

For Neptune, the liquid 
carries your voice. 

The fugacity will find 
the tongue of eternity. 

The sea has divided 
the land. Water sends the wreaths. 

The future will keep an eye 
on the scavenger, time. 

There were signs. It was going 
to become a predator.

Self-Effacement

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Gender― 
was becoming unborn, ― 
untaught. Very fluid state. 
You could transgress the boundaries 
like the sea spreading over, 
on your land. 

My ankles giveaway. I cannot― 
walk incognito. Moon will 
not open the door. Nightshade welcomes 
with open arms. A climber 
with purple flower holds my hand. 
I may stumble. Almost done― 
disconnecting with present― 
and past. 

This is the sun. This is the 
sky. Circumcising becomes an 
escape, to cut off the bondage with yourself.

What Hospice

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Becoming unsteady 
at points of darkness. 

Tinged with blue 
I am ready for the unspoken departure. 

How to reach out― 
for a situation, which was not? 

You sleep on the floor 
to hear the earth’s agony. 

A helix― surrounds the 
imperfect creation of unsavory thoughts. 

Abusive was the creator, 
The evil had a beauty in destruction.

The Daphnia

Folder: 
Satish Verma

The truth of my blood 
at the mensal 
without prayer and anguish. 

Will you be able to 
heal the rift between color 
and smell? 

The other face― 
offering the tears in 
cupped palm. 

The slant eyes will 
never know, the end of― 
the day under the shadows. 

The endemic fugue― 
tilts the balance of angels. 
The bay tree sends the condolence.

The Rarest Thing

Folder: 
Satish Verma

The night watchman 
has become an etcher. 

The stoning of the shirt 
must stop. These moments were the 
real sinners/beating the moon. 
A simple story becomes an epic. 

The belly buttons start 
stammering. Meaning did not take a bath. 

Canaries have gone on a strike. 
They will not sing on the edge of night. 

An oil painting walks out of the canvas― 
to become a parable. 
The creator of this art 
was done.

An Awakening

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Profiling the flaws 
after the ignition, starts 
the outrage. 

A stoic will assume a 
secret. The mute testimony 
against my naked walls. 

Your gifts are lying unseen, 
unused. I have gone, O tormentor― 
beyond your reach. 

When you would try 
to annihilate the vision, I will 
check the bleed of eyes. 

If the bell rings; 
somebody will arrange the table 
for anaesthesia.

Cracked Open

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Living my own way 
like flint, 
you will not read 
my cosmology. 

We two, keep quiet in― 
the same book― I 
want to read some 
hidden message from you. 

A day slips into night. 
What a consumption of will. 
The train stops at the terminus― 
without a traveler. 

Stepping out, from the 
grave of body― you will throw 
a reflection, of the nerves, 
in a wreath.