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

Broken Promise

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Who will deliver the blow 
to hissing winds of red hot skin 
when burning desert hits the green trees? 

Life flows through fire in the shadows 
of cloudy peaks. I resume living 
in the bodies of other people, 

I am not myself. And change must 
come in the garb of numbers, 
in the mode of nothingness, 

like the horns locked in the middle 
of the road, raising dust and hoofs 
two bulls fighting in the ruins of widespread 

culture of politics. Only slogans give 
the clue to black power of flesh. A 
dispute does not settle for the last rites. 

Neither burial nor a funeral will take place. 
Only bones will give rise to a flower bed 
where ashes will read the history. 

This Odyssey

Folder: 
Satish Verma

The wound peeks out 
from the round eyes. No lashes, 
brows. Singed face betrays the scars 
of last century. 
He was fighting with his fists only. 

Iced lids throwing the flames; 
god knows what was the pain of memories? 
He did not reverse the wheels of woes; 
did not bring back the stream 
lost in the volcanic rocks. 

Playing truant from black death 
a frail hope kindles the small fish 
to swim against the current, 
ruts of repetitions and bores of endless 
barrels shooting roadmaps. 

Comfort In Hobbling Home

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Washed by tears, the flame kindled again. 
Crimson magma was quick to engulf 
the drops on forehead. Fired from close range 
the bullets opened the bloodgates in quick succession. 
It should not have happened! 
Therefore the journey resumes outside the good 
or the evil. The rdx bombs are found at 
your doorsteps and you watch helplessly the 
murder on dining table. 
Are you safe in linens of truth? The lip 
gloss of diplomacy will work? The sea 
was turbulent and a hijacked trawler was left 
on waves with the shot body of captain. 
Your hands are trembling on the knobs without 
doors. Through the death I perceive a 
child crying in the arms of a sobbing galaxy. 
There were needles on the road and our 
soles were bleeding. 

Crossing

Folder: 
Satish Verma

The body was arched in a denial mode 
on the rose bed, unsettling human emotion 
in the train of lots. A broken chain 
of thoughts outranking the holiness of crime. 
I am not getting the signals of fire, sparks 
or flames. Only smoke on the mirror. It was 
becoming a murder, discarding the clay, terracotta, 
color in Indian summer. A sensuous dance 
begins, on the mobiles. The portfolio contains the 
numbers of streets for total annihilation so 
the visual footprints will disappear. The mathematical 
progress of genes halts. Million fingers will 
write history of wailing waves, frightened 
of hot winds. 

Another Trial

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Liquidity crunch turns you 
into lip slave. 
The candlelight bed has the broken legs. 
Asleep by the boat you sway in dark. 
You are still a number in the books to be fed. 
A jigsaw puzzle in the economic boom 
starts a jihad. Here I am waiting for you 
to start a crusade against the falling stars. 
The encounter turns bloody. Shoot out for innocents. 
Kids and women, criss-crossing the path of hate. 
I was not ready for this disgrace of religion. 
The king was making it free below poverty line. 
Every wound will be addressed and healed.

Against Thoughts

Folder: 
Satish Verma

The lake was drying up 
touching raw nerves. 
Epicenter of violence was standing 
on gun powder- 

nursing charity groups 
which were spewing hot lava. 
This war was different, wearing masks 
played by gloved hands. 

The face in the crowd 
was twisting the knobs of nuclear doors. 
A tender haze over the winter 
of relationship. The stones were smiling. 

The dance of the road, I am the lone 
survivor of genocide to witness 
the romance of death, the nameless 
liberation. 

Can you negate this matrix? This fall 
of becoming? I smear the ashes 
on forehead of history and squander 
my poems. 

A Small Chance

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Standing on a sandisland 
I was looking at the landscape 
of the aura of a lobbied avatar. 
The chill was spreading on the river unfazed. 

The sassafras had a logistics network 
to penetrate in the oysters, becoming 
grayish white pearls of wisdom. 
It will protect you from any insult. 

When the temple of learning was 
being rebuilt, the words were finding 
an echo in sky’s fear of abduction. 
The sun was hiding behind the lies. 

In a trance I move unmindful 
of interbreeding. Some grizzly thoughts 
were near the cave of skeletons. The 
panther was readying to jump out. 

Drooping

Folder: 
Satish Verma

For a desolatory trident 
I was feeding my anger. 
I could not do it, sell 
myself for punitive lenses of my calculus. 

A nymphalid arsenal. 
The war was still going on 
to strike in deep poctets, demolishing 
nascent hope. Future will 

ponder at the mascots. The grief 
of rags and riches will continue 
listening to eternal conflicts. 
The wounds will develop whiskers. 

Not for the opulent pain in the body: 
we were crying for the glory of the man 
which was disappearing fast, 
under the whirling snow of broken stars.

Trigger Point

Folder: 
Satish Verma

A missile in the home, 
what they have done? 
You are on flames. 

A red smoke rises 
from bottomless hole. 
Memory slumps. 

A glow in pain washed 
cells, calls the mirror. 
Instead, grave diggers arrive. 

This was the manufactured truth 
of the eternal kiss 
of death. I stretch my arms 

to feel the terror. 
The walls start crying. 
There was no roof.