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

Wisdom

Folder: 
Satish Verma

I will deceive the immortality 
in my inadequacy, between myself 
and a messy belief. 

The sky cracks open. 
One unreal moon 
slaps the dark clouds. 

You want to rest on my shoulder 
till eternity. 
The silence leads to nothingness. 

Over the rifts, space and time 
eyes stalk the hands. 
You cannot write your name. 

You will not move a step, 
I will not stay for long. 
The distance will defend us both.

A Grave Reminder

Folder: 
Satish Verma

The green hills are drinking 
the clouds, 
keep pouring out 
the scented breath. 

In capsuled hour the wind was its own rival. 
A slant on confessional suicide: 
the charm obliterates the solitude. 

A gray shower of thoughts outside the window, 
I forget, I remember in coyness 
my sparks are humming. 

The plundered land 
by advancing columns of hunger 
tosses around the dead lips of tropical 
hues. 

The fear demands learning, 
finding the uninvited death 
in the manipulated existence.

Imperfect Present

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Priests of cave temple 
go to sleep. Street urchins 
drink the thinner, eat nail polish, 
crushed lizard for a kick and then 
go without food for three days. 

The valley burns. Of what consequence? 
Sting of truth overreaches. Another committed 
icon walks through the bodies 
sleeping on slimed stones, 
somehow. 

Do you hear the wails? The sirens? 
Whole life spent on margins of future, 
drinking your own salt. A shadow 
wants to know, what was the hour 
of destiny? 

Windows tremble. The owl’s hoot hangs 
in the air. Fearful dawn fails to 
disclose the identity of death’s kiss. 
Green anemone engulfs the king crab. 
A cloud brings a message.

Day Of Judgement

Folder: 
Satish Verma

In last journey he wanted to have 
a free run without rumors 
of reconciliation. 

From years back he watched – 
friends, disappeared one by one. He 
became his own enemy. The ravines 

were waiting for the sacrificial throw 
of a bound martyr. 
Between being and action 

he was ready for the kiss of death – 
from a ferocious opponent, 
whose chest spread like a hood of cobra – 

ready to strike. His ghost will walk now 
on the clouds, days in, days out, 
to read the black lips of blissful time.

Eternal Wait

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Fear of becoming sane 
inherits the hate of earth. 
I wake up in the rains of time. 

Fire of soul 
extracts the thought shapes 
like stark naked truth 
in the desert of pain – 

unbirthing the child of wisdom. 
I hardly think, in my failures. 
The house will go up in blaze 
by the earthen lamp of fading glory. 

There was no light, a quick death 
of lips and speech. The human touch- 
prints had avenged for words. 
Inspiration will wait.

Beautiful

Folder: 
Satish Verma

A cinder, 
neither coal nor ash, 
my life, 
clogs the roots of swaying carnations. 
Fear, like a cheetah, runs faster than discretion. 
Helplessly you tear off the last page 
of the book 
without reading the end. 

One petaled coral, green, 
hides the white death, 
drowning the hope. 
The river has changed the course, 
without meaning, purpose, 
meandering, engulfing the cardinal designs. 

A homeless god wanders, 
in my garden, to sit for a while 
in the ruins of burnt umbers, 
till the shrine is completed.

Your Waking Head

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Your impressionist, 
rift, comes through 
uncontrolled hands of fear. The snake 

was shedding the skin. 
Not walking, 
flying like a rage 
discharging the burns 
in the river of blood. 

I shudder, 
in the cleft of a grain. 
Hymns were howering over the book. 

One by one 
the leaves fall, to unravel the secrets of 
unvoiced grief of earth. 
A thin faith crumbles 
unfinding the lost shroud 
of a messiah.

What Comparison?

Folder: 
Satish Verma

The displaced years 
cling 
to your body 
like an extended death. 
I wanted to see 
what could not be seen 
by clutching. 
the lifeless doubts. 

Emotions play: 
potentials are threatened. 
Remaining alert becomes a 
punishment. I grieve for the dementia, 
the night yawns. The walking trees 
start swapping the roots. Folds of sorrow 
whisper of morality. 

The apocalyptic prophecy wants to know: 
“Have you ever seen the hell? ”

Lake Song

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Nothing makes or breaks now. 
I will not know you 
on the lake. The clouds and shoreline shudder. 
There was no speck of endurance. The wind 
falls with agonizing thud. 

The dusk was hoisting the white waves. 
Time to make peace. 
Moon will make an appearance 
with a veiled threat. 

A bleached skeleton on the sand 
wriggles to become alive 
like the bitterness. 

After a midnight death of a battered 
probe, it was time to give a final call. 
A fire will freeze like a rose 
in the wraps of black waters. 
The folk singer was coming.