# #betrayal #life #forgiveness #suffering #sadness #pain #mistakes #madness #poetry #Dillon #Dark #love

Nothingness And Being

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Sometimes lurking in corner. 
Sometimes tumbling down 
endlessly, 
and sometimes with frozen smile 
immolating oneself 
before an idol to be. 

He danced imprisoned in a glass case 
whole life. 
Overcoming the pretentious inhibition 
to stand naked in dimlights 
of arguments. 

He started a dialogue 
about the disquietening habits 
of killing each other with sharp tongues. 
I said death and life are two suggestions 
worth consideration. A clump disdain in between. 

The birds are circling again in sky. 
Someone is going to die. 
Avians knew the travesty of existence. 
Question of self praise 
ultimately drowns 
in melody of being.

Ressurection

Folder: 
Satish Verma

The wind writes a name on the clouds 
and sun wipes out the letters. 
This game continues daily. 
coming into life after every death. 

Exhausted I want to believe 
and make up my mind to go 
for a new birth. 

The resentment has accumulated 
all the life 
against the futility of winning a race. 
In the end you reach no where. 

A void impossible to fill. 
The years monitored, lay waste 
something to die.

No, No I'M No Ovid!

Folder: 
Satish Verma

A useless space between the sentences, 
ghastly story does not end in black and white. 
Again the heart cries. 
I keep on knocking on the doors 
and then return to blackness. 

Sometimes people become insects. 
Cockroaches, ants and spiders, 
weaving their webs and hills, 
crawling, creeping, clawing. 
Flesh eaters. Pouncing upon hapless victims. 

Depression. I am devastated. 
Something churns in breast, dousing the spirit, lines and words. 
Cannot sit quiet. Agoraphobia. Don’t want to talk. 
Somewhere a name crops up. Saint or beast. 
Under the trees there is no shade. I walk barefoot. 
Hungry dogs chasing the flies. 
Humidity fills the eyes. 

Silence of the night. 
City has stopped running. 
All the dead will speak now. 
Not asking any revenge, 
but peace for the living people.

Sysiphus

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Let it go, do not touch it, 
you had been negating the bare truth. 
I was part of you 
once at the shore of tragedy. 
Life was treacherous 
and I was free to laugh. 

Come September and I will be chasing 
the fireflies again. 

How time takes revenge 
from the innocent commitments? 
You start returning to your roots 
and I was still surfeiting 
on the secret fidelity. 

Where was the need to be tied down 
to god? No body was honest to forsake 
the fear of nameless nemesis. 

The myth of rock still haunts. 
Water still boils under the clay. 
Petals fly in dark alleys 
and I cannot find the door.

The Indomitable

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Till last moment, life can produce a meaning. 
Of sky, stars and space between darkness and light. 
I am not going to weigh the burden 
and insult the ‘how’ of impossible, 
so much is still to finish. 
I am not going to commit suicide. 

Are there any takers of grass, of moon 
and scented winds? 
the borderline is very vague between 
ecstasy and depression. 

A bit of silence, a patch of sunlight 
I drink my cup from the tranquil hands. 
I am water, I am fire 
The fear is not going to dissipate me.

Holy Wings

Folder: 
Satish Verma

The twisted moon 
moved horizontally, 
plunged in cleavage 
of dark trees 
eating the stars. 

Aloneness; midnight dream, 
faces the wall of nails. 
Scratches on the flesh 
blood oozing. 
The benign end. 

Put off the lights, 
it helps to think clearly. 
Drape the mercy of night. 
Snake was hissing, may strike. 
A cramp will kill the joy. 

The fish will be welded 
to a candle.

Sweet Revenge

Folder: 
Satish Verma

It is, 
what do you not say 
I read the dusk 
on your eyes. 
Unspoken words 
hammering! 

A timer, 
quartz clock, 
ball bearings, pellets 
croissant of terror. 

Suspicious of the lady 
riding on crest 
responsible, 
for the happenings. 

Fear, 
hair raising, 
turns back the centuries. 
We lose, 
ourselves!

Nakedness

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Dying piece by piece in shock – 
a life without a mutiny. 
Walking amidst blue kraits 
you never raised the stick. 

Of extinct possibilities in the night 
of unmanned crossing- 
the blood streaked globe goes on 
revolving round the blazing sun. 

Short legged pygmies waving 
to tall peaks of ice from the 
burnt-out shelters, to learn 
obedience again. 

Crushed and upturned, we lost 
each other in the jungle of 
uncertainties. Peeled off skin 
made us afraid of each other.

Pride Of Valley

Folder: 
Satish Verma

When the battle lines were drawn, 
the only mandate 
for the human torpedo was to blow up 
the silence of time. 

Sick was the death-struck 
new born, praise of the ghost of tiger 
in the name of glory of green eyes. 
The orange moon was absolutely naked; 

the snow dripped in a cave to form a cone 
and the valley was burning wide. 
The bag of charcoal given 
to a shephered had turned into gold- 

nuggets at home. The vultured sky 
was claiming more bodies. 
A miracle was swelling the crowd 
and the crown was proud of deaths.