# #betrayal #life #forgivness #suffering #sadness #pain #mistakes #madness #poetry #broken

A Greek Tragedy

Satish Verma

Reticent were moon, sky and birds. 
A pall of gloom spread on the trees. 
Stoically I rode on the wings of pain, 
to watch the descending values. 

A timeless truth separates the charm from lies, 
and I long for the generosity of past 
which could connect us to future. 

A flame burns the eyes. 
When we took the wrong road? 
Still the fever is rising. 

Gods sneak into our affairs. 
A firebird flies in the space with long span of shadow, 
the helpless victim lies in wait, to be dispatched.


Satish Verma

Right on top, you were inching slowly. 
United in hate 
they were tracking you. 

Trespassing the epochs 
you want to go back in stone age 
to retrace the steps 
of a homeless sapience. 

In the brown desert of high hunches 
you were treading haltingly 
hounded by rivals, 
utterly unethical. 

You drew a circle 
without a center, 
readying for a guillotine.


Satish Verma

When you were rolling in dust, 
a puritan said, truth was me. 
It was getting dark in Himalayas. 

Black words, black themes. 
You have started a journey in daylight 
in a hot desert of fear. 

Tormented, because of the heat 
of arguments. Mimicry makes you sick. 
Mocking birds fly straight for lofty peaks. 

Self-denial was hurting sometimes 
against copious rewards and generous handouts, 
like pinned on a totem. 

The happening must start 
with hidden promises of price.

Of Time And Chains

Satish Verma

A quest for celestial insanity 
brings some comfort. 
Somewhere the script had failed. 

Only man was not responsible 
for the exiled sun. 
No longer the earth obeys the numbers. 

Wait, my mother 
I will enter into your bones 
and increase the serotonin flow. 

A father killed his daughter 
for the sake of a dragonfly. 
Downstairs moon was sleep-walking. 

A constant dialogue 
between flesh and a tyrant 
was satisfying the sadistic god.

Faithless Hands

Satish Verma

There were subtle declines, 
still I opted for incompleteness. 

A fierce battle was raging. 
I think to start my descent 

in roofless castle of mania 
to watch the self-destruction of a landscape. 

Thousands were squatting on mud tracks. 
till the dead rise from their ice beds. 

Ghostly hands were building the fire 
to send the rivers in exile. 

Hunger will decide the fate of the earth. 
Man was playing with the sands.

Anchored Briefly

Satish Verma

While melting-down he was going to cheat 
the death. So be it, bribing the inevitable. 

In search of me, you and self, life was 
coming to an end. Standing on sharp edge 

he wanted to go back to beginning of era, 
to try again his fear against coarse future, 

to be versed in or not to cease, to yield 
to the butchering-ground for salvation. 

He did not want to pick up the droppings 
now with butterfingers. Let there be a revolt 

against the buyers of wallets. Gods have 
left the caves and crowds are thinned out. 

Prayerwheels are broken. Sky was overcast. 
The morality heaves out of bush and steps 

up to find a new crisis.

The Same Kind

Satish Verma

Pseudoscrubbing was going on 
the scripted drama, words apart. 
The tears were denied to him 
and the moon slowly made peace on the white 
marble of a cult, 
and the river had scored a victory. 

He was very upset by the absence of 
truth. Stupid god did not stand in the 
witness box to testify the morality of 
man. Genes were deciding the number 
of queens. People were still worshipping 
a pair of black Najas. 

Neanderthal skull marks a step in the 
evolution of art. The jaw bone still juts out 
to define a mafia don. The slit eyes make 
a good pottery class. White poison settles 
in the breasts. An ovarian carcinoma 
now spreads in bones. 

My toes are burning. Cannot walk straight 
I am not here. I am not there. I am not anywhere.

After Serial Blasts To Make A Point

Satish Verma

After seeding the clouds 
they were going to buy wet lips. 

Seven minutes to make a bomb: 
a micro-chip, ammonium nitrate and a circuit, 
one headless body squirts a long jet of blood. 

Run, run for the cover, with nuggets of 
wailing times. Black walls intercept the flames. 
A nimbus suspends the door. 

Cryptic commands fail. A body sprawls 
on payment for wheels to move. You 
hand me a child to find his bilolgical mother. 

A long manifesto makes the cadaver shrink. 
Clocks spin in frenzy. Mirrored people 
look like ghosts. A city burns.


Satish Verma

That tribal instinct sits in the denial. 
Words fly in fog carrying absurd meanings. 
I was ready for the impeachment. 

Like a pinned butterfly 
you lived several times, repeating 
a dialogue on a mindless thought. 

From nothing to nothingness, 
you reach nowhere, over and beyond. 
Where now? A state of deadlock? 

Too insignificant when you climb down 
against the black magic of language. 
You loose the center by waking up. 

Between this death and the next 
you throw something in the ring, 
to show my life was deflected.