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

Waiting To Happen

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Being you, 
not the bee queen. 
Volatile as it appears, would say 
one day, I don't know you yet. 

The estranged mogul 
returns home, empty- 
handed. 

Don't tell me in 
stark and straight words, one 
needs clemency. 

The flame had touched me. 
A strange panorama, created 
by the geometry of violence, 
now hurts. 

Speed and direction 
liberates the path breaker. 
Resonance of your voice rises, 
reading the same poem 
again and again. 

Segmented icons would not sleep 
on the same bed.

Revealing

Folder: 
Satish Verma

When you take a false 
lead, life will undo the seeds 
and the cataracts freeze. 

This is the story of 
a butterfly, in disturbing amber 
buried in snowfall. 

Can your body take the imprints of flogging? 
When you start sketching the polar ice 
in the story of death, compounding 
the mystry of 
unleashing sea 
of the fawn eyes, whose message 
was sent in water?

False Accusations

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Every night you become 
an insect, crawl into 
the bed and chew the lips of unknown, 
listening to the music 
of flowing blood. 

Outside the slogans- 
tear at you. It was a wound 
night, the words, untouching the space, 
go- straight into the echos, 
without any halo. 

So where did you sink in 
defiant orange of the sea, 
while turning back from your designed 
path? Another terrorist's sexism 
was on play? 

There were no barnacles, no 
frog mimicry. I silent walk into 
the arena to find the length of 
the caravan.

Somersaults

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Becoming gold diggers, 
the myths, without 
ism and orthodoxy. 

The creed will not observe. 
I will say, I am the god 
of ruins.I offer my inadequacies 
to be punished. 

The passions were rising. 
You kill yourself to get the 
space, the privacy. 

Where the theme ends? 
The religion has only absurd 
quotations.You always involve the 
Almighty- for any fall, 
any bloodshed. 

The tricks played by blessed 
saints.You would always sleep in dark. 
Eyes the faded gems.

Sense Of Betrayal

Folder: 
Satish Verma

You will find one day, 
water footprints, when 
seismic events stop in eyes. 

Don't you think a system 
of mutual respect should- 
be followed, before the 
conception of a new rage. 

Moons come and go. 
You upturn the clock racing 
the time to- 
reach infinity. 

Where the hundred stars 
die daily, do you still 
want to become a blue light 
in the misty house- 
of headstones?

Existential Plight

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Will not put any claim. 
Neonate my poem 
has gone gray. 

Black days and white 
nights.I will recall my 
ghost and ask, O god- 
do you exist anywhere? 

A thread of pain, makes 
a family of feet, climbing 
in smoke. 

Vulnerable to theft, my 
thoughts divert me towards 
cemetery, where I will 
bury my sins. 

You remained a question 
for me on calender date.I 
will hold on the time, 
which has thrown me back.

Trying To Breath

Folder: 
Satish Verma

No final goodbye. No poetic 
apology. No introduction 
to a frightening joke of 
a blue Buddha. 

The neonates were blind. 
There was no alternative, except 
to wish them luck. I wanted 
to leave my pangs with razor points. 

Morality and hunted crimes. 
It was a shadow boxing 
in cryptobiosis. A bleak day 
invites no more clouds. 

You talk to the solitary moon. 
The silence enters the reeds. 
A whistling wakes up the night. 
Death goes for a walk.

It Is Absurd

Folder: 
Satish Verma

After the sunset, 
the moon comes out whitewashed. 
An extremist flies a hawk. 

The bird's meet was 
disbanded. There was no 
mandate to decide the fate 
of eggs. 

I cannot think. After the 
arrest of an anarchist the cauldron 
was left to boil. 
The bones start melting. 

Step out from the dark. 
The blind men were protesting 
in the street against the sun. 

It is a small world. 
You meet me again and again.

Loose Threads

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Your thin white skin spreads 
on the front. The blue 
veins have become the strings, 
annexing my peninsula. 

You had said, it was a 
bit of stretch, to cover the 
lies of a fading sun, 
for a delayed penitence. 

Living water will bring clouds 
to fill in the lakes of grief. 
One day the lilies will grow-
meet in the air, for sombody's sake. 

The black moon was still 
raw. All the weeds had 
become snakes. I start 
hating this season of mating.