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

An Anode Will Discharge

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Your window 
was very small. 
Why did not you throw the dice? 
Walk away 
without a want? 

I had no courage 
to tell the lies, 
to hold the secrets 
of brave tears, 
which failed to live in red-bricked house. 

And a naked womb 
protecting the fetus 
from scars and curtains, 
will find a anointed bed to sleep for eternity, 
for delivering, a new star. 

An anode will discharge 
on a galactic light, 
a message of the hungry 
birds of prey. 
Death wants its share of flesh.

Give Me Some Poison To Live

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Give me, 
some poison to live 
I had been dead 
for many years. 

I burn my hands on a flame, 
blank space has started talking. 
I am ill at ease – 
My lips are not moving. 

The pellets, the bullets, the steel – 
nothing matters now. 
Dirty games can go on, 
I am going on bromides 
to ejaculate the pain. 

Sleep will not come in dark 
nor the relief in white robes. 
I will remain awake till eternity. 

Give me, 
some thorns to bleed. 
Rose petals 
are hurting now.

Flowering Of The Thought

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Belonging 
to unbelonging 
was becoming a method 
exploring the path. 
In the backyard unpleasant fumes 
were rising. 

Nocturnal swoop of enlightment, 
clearly becomes a festival 
of yellow death. 
Who was hiding the truth? 

Flowering of the thought in sky 
ripens cessation of grief. 
Slopes and summits, 
bring tears in eyes. 

Solace of ancestral home 
was gone. Bold ceilings were hung by ungodly fears. 
Wet hands lift the body of past, 
classical future was gleaming slowly.

Xulon

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Small things were 
witness to genes 
of freak mutation. 
Tooth in eye 
becoming boat in blindness. 

Witch hazel 
fails to stop leakage. 
Thumb with beads of lymph 
stung high in stillness, 
wants to peel off 
the concept of injury. 

A brace 
stops the smile. 
Blue-chips have nothing to offer. 
A king had hemophilia. 
Timbers drip the blood 
from heartwood 
dropp by drop.

Death Was Very Genial

Folder: 
Satish Verma

In the service of flesh 
new vision was perfecting a cult; 
silence was going home. 

It was not there 
freedom of defense for bread, but 
I must pay the price of hunger. 

The oblique afterthought 
compelled by nocturnal infidelity 
picks up the black threads, 
minute by minute. 
Death was very genial. 

Comes silently behind the cacti - 
across the intelligent green. 
One has to pay for touching greatness. 

The thoughts will never go 
from the unwinking eyes. 
I was listening to the footsteps.

Actualis

Folder: 
Satish Verma

There was a strange carnality 
in flowing robes, 
a waiver penetrates 
in incorporeal ellipse. 
I must speak of him in his absence 
combating for the actuality. 

Knowing lust manifolds, 
yields a prayer, 
primrose opens the eyes. 
The knowledge liberating - 
you cross the inlets. 

Anxiety peels off your mind. 
An obnoxious presence of unbeings, 
the weeds, the vocal generation 
of priests, are anything but art. 

The body blooms, in suicidal note. 
Birds shriek, before the moon climbs 
on the dark trees. I let go the orange, 
only the white spreads.

Aloneness Of Fire

Folder: 
Satish Verma

He was asking for, at least, 
a passive euthanasia. 

Rage or hostility 
was giving pain to phantom limbs. 
Race puts forth, 
a trembling version 
of ethnic choice. 
A piped dream 
which never took off. 

On middle of the road 
a dragon rumbles, 
hissing flames. 
Something not on the left 
not on the right. 
Cannot keep the sky open. 
Nothing moves now, 
not even leaves of a lone tree. 

There was a random cry 
unheard in the aloneness of fire.

Dignity

Folder: 
Satish Verma

There was existence, 
without space. 
I was afraid of my unborn child. 

Inheriting the stammer 
of history 
I could not think of any brand abuse. 

On the contrary, fumes 
throw you off the road. 
Full moon rising on the cleft. 

I was, as I am, never being 
to any threat of drowning 
in contradictions. 

A dignity in withdrawl 
and coming back after sunset – 
to walk in night, alone.

Blazing Trail

Folder: 
Satish Verma

They swim like tadpoles. 
Thoughts! 
I was waiting at the far end of pond. 

Heartburn increases at dusk, 
fierce battle of blazing stripes 
on blankets. 

On the scarlet face 
a bridge was burning 
in wide open eyes. 

Somebody takes an aim 
hauling a runaway bruise. 
Blood comes out roaring. 

Weep, my stars, 
ice was thin – 
drowning the lake.