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

I V/S We

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Cannot decode the signature of fear beneath the huge eyes, 
serene and calm, darting right and left, like in stricken 
animal at frenzy. Drift we must; will seldom cross the path. 
Agony of existence, flying thighs, erect humps, sliding on sand 
dunes. Even moon melts in our mouth. 
You had kissed the frozen lips; of betrayed night. 
The sudden gyration of hips, fading of stars, 
and waning of nameless memory. Let’s go and 
hide in blasts of whistling train. Pale wool of 
knitted love cannot hold the heat. The waiting will 
be over in minutes. Wheels will runover an epoch. 
I would raise my head after ages in astonishment. I was still alive, cast 
in a different mould. Dislocation became my integrity, 
my fate, a frightened truth. 
People were very short sighted, could not cross infinity. 
Supreme was in them, discounting morality.

The Lost Ones

Folder: 
Satish Verma

On your dark face 
smile does not spread like a butterfly. 
Most reticent I had been, 
It was very difficult to give, 
and very painful to take. 
You wanted to be noticed, 
and I had a tryst with uncharted path. 

It was coming. 
The separation! 
Like an anal pain of cancer. 
The essence was, usurped by a deathly kiss of cobra. 
Your thoughts, body language were wrapped 
in a tarnished blanket. 
Let us start a parallel monologue 
on different selves. 

Do not count the wounds. 
An anthropologist has become a messenger. 
The history, the fossils, the caves are shouting, 
we were cannibals. 

No sound will trudge now, 
on our empty streets. 
No knocks will come on our doors.

An Agonised Prayer

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Death was prowling 
from funeral to funeral. 
No shadow will be spared today. 

I am not ready yet for the final curtain. 
Bullets have left some clocks 
ticking in the pockets of time. 

I shall call the leader 
who is hiding behind the scriptures. 

Don’t choose the destiny. 
Don’t commit the date. 
Anguish itself will find the path. 

What was wrong with the earth? 
It has stopped moving, 
the stars are drifting away. 
Another explosion in the sun? 

I don’t know. 
This world is heavy with pain. 
Rivers are flooded with blood and tears 
and I am roaming in the jungle of lies. 

Are you listening?

The Swan - Song

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Inadequately the clouds covered the moon 
the wind was soft and silky. 
The death of shadow was not complete. 
Stars had fled from groans of night. 

In the still room poor sentences could not compete 
with the innocence of emptiness 
which was in throes of giving 
birth to a new meaning. 

Weeping flowers were weaving a song. 
Memory, my pain, returns again and again 
I would never go ever to my old house 
just one for me, it gave me choking 
sadness. 

The wanderer me, moves again, to switch 
the lights on. You are not watching me. 
I don’t put claim on my words. They 
came to me from dangerous mistakes.

Prometheus? Mon Frere? ?

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Why you think of reversing the wheels 
when life has stopped moving? 
The time has fled from your hands 
and settled on the body of death. 
You are not intact and whole inside. 

Where the path betrayed us? 
Broken windows let in the dirt, smut and 
heat. 
The winter will be harsh, barren and cold 
One by one swallows have departed. 

The pain in neck does not go 
an astringent blast overpowers 
you become giddy, stagger for a while 
and then become blind. 

Your tragedy is mine, we suffer 
for the sake of light.

Ubiquitous Being

Folder: 
Satish Verma

I look at a slice of sky and weather 
from the window of my sick room 
tethered to the bed by depression. 

Time has come. Somebody will lay me open. 
Must I suffer with deep holes in buried mind 
where tears have drenched the folds? 
Everyday I burned my fingers in a 
blast solely to test the truth, and for 
reading the verse, rubbed my eyes with a 
dream. 

An imperfect wave struck at the legs, 
wavered me for a minute and then washed away. 
Sitting within tragedy rise a song, I 
understand its fugitive moans, watch 
the face, I am not a martyr but 
an ubiquitous being.

Dying To Live

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Eight kisses of death and I am alive 
My chest is still bleeding 
Come brother, come, 
stitch my wounds. 

Whom shall we believe, rebirth 
or life after death? 
Both are study of wasteland. 
To speak through angels is difficult these 
days and prayer has run 
out its charm. 
I want to swim with octopus 
again, 
to test its suckered tentacles. 
The envy of ocean cannot stop me. 
Tonight the burning candle is going to live.

The Wheels

Folder: 
Satish Verma

He was very thin, half naked, one arm 
broken, glasses cracked. 
Early morning an owlet will land over its head 
And give a long hoot. 

The bleary eyes will look down non-chalantly 
on browsing goats at its feet. I will see a twinkle 
in the eyes. 

A cave man, or Buddha! I loved your brazenness 
cat walking alone on the spiky path of truth, 
drinking goat’s milk and raising cotyledons 
of guiltless faith. 

Post-traumatic, I squeeze your feet. 
Any reincarnation in future? Any divine intervention?

The Difference

Folder: 
Satish Verma

I was watching a flight of swans 
in a neat row over the horizon. 

You were counting the pebbles on the beach. 
Sun will shortly crease the clouds, 
but first let us decide for our starving existence 
how far is our home? 

I cannot assemble the broken mirror, 
the splinters have twisted images. 
Somebody knocks out a tomb in sand, 
and I wait for a giant wave to wash 
out the traces. 

The death offers the final peace.