# #betrayal #life #forgiveness #suffering #sadness #pain #mistakes #madness #let me be

Hidden Voices

Folder: 
Satish Verma

I don't count the
Countless, black hurts. Hear
the unhearable.

Pink over pink. A
golden drive after the
moon's marriage.

In deep calm, I
dig out the bare gospel
of the unknown god.

Poem Sublime

Folder: 
Satish Verma

The genesis of
incredible, from moon to
moon was unheard.

I was lost in
kneeling bamboos to
cover the sins of sky.

Can your shadow
walk with me to hear quartets
of beethoven?

Beyond Infinity

Folder: 
Satish Verma

I touch the timber
and smell my hands. Jacarandas
have solemnity.

Will walk on the blue
trumpets, to start talkathon
with soul of the tree.

Why we are born to die?
Can you stop this cycle? Tell me
the truth of the road.

Searching Soul

Folder: 
Satish Verma

When the divinity
lived in you, I scrambled
to touch blue moon.

Sitting near a
sepulcher, I dreamed of
inhuman deaths.

Will my generation
give heart rending tip-off
to this doomed world?

Playing With Marbles

Folder: 
Satish Verma

When you left, I had
covered my mirror not to
see my swollen eyes.

Who takes control
of whom? I was victim of
animal bites.

The path to lake
was open to bohemians,
who always wear blues.

Golden Leash

Folder: 
Satish Verma

It was religion.
The yellow viper will strike.
No weight of sin.

The spirit will not
wear a body if I fail to
die in your hands.

The bridal oath
drops some words to become
winged and fly away.

The Message

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Was it nobility
to prepare body edible,
digging waterhole?

You sell the kisses
gracefully for the suckers
in return for soul.

The water color
doesn't stay on your face in―
moon. Stars twinkle.

Betrayal

Folder: 
Satish Verma

A medieval smile
picks up the frozen pain
of fallen hero.

The fear prevails.
You cannot move the finger
to stitch a celibate.

The lies shine,
spitefull, but wrapped in
tears of broken pen.

Inquisition

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Joining back tribe
was not atonement
for separation.

The truth pricks like
needles in eyes. What it was,
comes through my poems.

Picking up pieces
of wounded light to draw
a map of darkness.